Chapter 1- The departure
The Callianis rose above the waves.
Mixed with the clamor on deck and the exclamations of the sailors came a muffled roar, with notes so low they were at the limits of audibility. The levitating engines gave their full repulsive thrust, shaking the ship’s structures as wood and ropes creaked and cracked. The gravity wave threw the water under the keel in furious waves that struck, then submerged the docks. With a mighty blast, throwing bags of roaring spray over the crowd, the slender sailboat, carved in a line as sensual as its naiad name, tore itself from the waters, to soar into the heavens. Appearing as proud and haughty as Jawaad the Merchant, the man who had built her, the Callianis rose nearly fifteen meters above the quay, towering over the immense city of Armanth with all her arrogant beauty, raising her ivory-cut figurehead towards the firmament, as if she were throwing her splendor in defiance.
A shout of joy rolled from the ship’s deck to the entire jetty, driven in unison by a hundred throats. It was so loud and enthusiastic that the clamor of victory drowned out the din of the ship and its engines. Theobos roared a chorus of cheers with his men, who together had made such an uncertain and formidable moment possible.
On the aft deck, holding the helm, Jawaad, silent in the face of the victory clamors, let out a frank smile; something rarely seen on the face of this constantly sullen man. It was a smile of pride, echoing that of the men: workmen, shipwrights, slaves, laborers, sailmakers, shipwrights, architects and engineers who had built this unique vessel and were cheering her maiden voyage.
***
The departure had been rushed. Although Jawaad had planned to set sail again for Melisaren, where Armanth was home to a wealthy Merchant Guild trading post in which he held a number of shares, to meet up with an old friend, his new ship was not ready to set sail; in theory, it should not have been ready for two weeks at best. The equipment therefore had to be completed in less than a day.
Jawaad even thought Alterma would have a nervous breakdown.
“What? Uh, but all this for tonight? We’ll never make it, Jawaad!”
The accountant stared at the list she had just written down under the dictation of the master merchant. She made round eyes behind her work binoculars as she reread the document, nervously pulling back one of the curls of her eternally untamable chestnut hair. This made Jawaad smile, as he had never been shy about admiring the young woman with her freckled face and rare olive-green eyes. He hadn’t hired her for her good looks, however, but above all for her temperament, skills and mathematical genius. But her beauty was just one more trait that he took full advantage of.
What she saw, of course, made her grumble as usual, and what Jawaad was still waiting for, amused by. She had a strong character, which he liked to stimulate from time to time.
“And stop looking at me like that. Yes, I’m getting panicky, but have you seen what you’re asking for? I don’t even know how we’re going to move the whole library, not to mention the kitchen supplies, your on-board furniture and… and… thirty-five pulse pistols, thirty rounds of ammunition each with Loss-metal primers and a hundred cannonballs plus primers for all the canons?! In one day?! But… how am I going to find that ?”
Jawaad straightened up with a smile, passing behind Alterma’s back to place a hand on the young woman’s shoulder and lean over her a little:
“With me. Saddle up.”
It was rare for Jawaad to take a horse into town. In fact, the master merchant had never shown the slightest inclination for horses, even though he owned a good dozen of them, animals of all breeds and prices; nor did he show the slightest affection for the estate’s dogs, though they were numerous and also of all breeds. But given the tight deadlines for acquiring and delivering the contents of the list, riding would prove a necessity here.
Before leaving, he leaned over Azur who had followed him and, after instructions for his personal slave to make preparations and be ready for his return, added, running his thumb over her cheek, to draw her to him and take a kiss:
“Get my new slave out of the cage. She follows you, whatever you do and wherever you go.”
The young woman nodded with a tender smile moved by the kiss, asking:
“Should I give him chores to do?”
Jawaad nodded his head slightly:
“But don’t stop her from making them if she tries. Go.”
***
A few shopkeepers and craftsmen almost went mad that day.
At a brisk gallop, Jawaad and Alterma made the rounds of all the counters and stalls able to supply him with the necessities, necessarily of the best possible quality. He was soon joined by Alteruis, his accountant’s young and introverted assistant, then by sailors and a whole troop of dockers, with carts and carriages, and several messengers running from one side of the lower town to the arsenals, with lists of the difficult merchant’s supplies. Even when pressed for time, Jawaad never wavered from his exacting standards, which brooked neither discussion nor compromise. So it was a very long and hard day for everyone, and especially for Alterma. Several times she had to take time off from the purchasing interviews and negotiations, to avoid bursting out laughing both openly and nervously, after having to endure the dejected looks on the faces of Jawaad’s interlocutors, all of whom were vainly trying to do what was systematically doomed to failure: change his mind.
The troop that eventually formed was a good fifty men and almost as many mules and horses rented on the spot, for a dozen overloaded carts, all heading in clever disarray towards the Radia Granateo.
***
At the Alba Rupes estate, it was the same hustle and bustle. Azur, who was the first to get her hands dirty – she wouldn’t let anyone else prepare her master’s personal belongings – gave orders and instructions to the girls of the house, who had no other urgent tasks in hand at the time. In fact, only Janisse had retained Joran to look after the children on the estate. Her husband had joined Jawaad’s troupe, along with the gardening couple and the dog handler. Accompanied by Abba, who, like her, was in no fit state to move or lend a hand, she watched the chaotic ballet of household slaves running about, barely concealing her anguish at the the lord of the estate’s asty departure. After all the recent events, even Abba’s imposing presence and attempts to reassure her did little to relax her. Behind Azur followed Lisa, naked as a worm – which didn’t bother anyone, it was common among slaves – silent and looking lost. She never left the psyke, who had clearly ordered her never to stray far from her. To the shouts, the laughter, the joyful cavalcades of the girls filling the trunks and bags that were about to be loaded onto the Callianis, she would respond with jumps and panic, shivering to the point of making it look like she was shivering with cold. Azur could read the terror on her new, fearful colleague’s face like an open book. She had been intrigued by her master’s choice to possess such a fragile-looking girl, both physically and emotionally. Jawaad liked strong souls, whole characters, even if he demanded blind trust and obedience from his slaves. But she had quickly guessed part of her master’s motivations, although she would keep them to herself as long as he didn’t talk about them.
She smiled broadly as she carefully folded and piled Jawaad’s laundry into a trunk, and saw two frail, hesitant hands reach out to help her, handing her the bundles of clothes. With a tender smile, she said:
“You have nothing to fear, you know? Relax a little, you’re shaking like a kitty.”
Lisa made a lost pout, searching for the meaning of the word. Azur burst out laughing:
“Meow… a cat! A little cat. You know, cuddly, wild, fearful, with big eyes and fine claws?”
“Are there any cats here?”
Azur nodded. The idea of teaching the young woman new words delighted her:
“Yes. But they’re rare. The toshs eat them.”
“The… toshs?… What are toshs?”
“Vermin. They sneak into attics, pantries, grain stores, and devour everything. That’s why everyone has dogs, they chase them away. But you, you’re like a kitten that’s lost its mother.”
Lisa said nothing more, shyly withdrawing. Azur had time to read her face without much trouble, and realized that the simple words she’d just used largely described the truth; the only difference between a lost kitten and this Earth girl was simply that they weren’t the same species. She encouraged Lisa with a patient smile to continue helping her, while she went to fetch a few pairs of boots and the master merchant’s belts:
“Our master is a good man, and you’ll be treated well. Better than where you come from. I know you’re thinking of your sister. Cherish her, don’t forget her, but if you love her, get on with your life. Because here, you have nothing to fear, as long as you obey everything our master may ask.”
Lisa nodded timidly, still without a word. Azur leaned towards her and brought her face close, placing a kiss on her forehead. She towered over her, and would have lifted her at arm’s length without much difficulty:
“I’m not asking you to smile. Not yet, anyway. But when you can, come and give me one. You don’t have to talk to me. I’ll understand everything you want to say, and I’ll know if it’s a real smile.”
Completing the trunk, Azur straightened up happily:
“And now let’s get you dressed!”
The dumbfounded look on her young colleague’s face – still naked, and having remained so since her arrival in this world she felt so alienated from – made her laugh out loud, as she led her towards the Slave Garden.
***
Jawaad had returned late in the afternoon with Alterma and a few men, by which time his personal belongings had been loaded onto the last convoy and he had summarily greeted his household before departing. His luggage included Azur, of course, but also his new slave. Airain almost competed with Abba, although not for the same reasons. Abba would have liked to accompany his friend to the port and see the Callianis off, and Airain, who served as Educator of the master-merchant’s Slave Garden, was already sulking at her master’s prolonged absence. Jawaad, however, did not delay longer than the time it took for his belongings to be loaded, despite Airain’s attempts to hold him back a little. This eventually made Abba laugh, before he called her back to him, authoritatively, above all to keep her occupied and prevent her from annoying the master-merchant.
The return to the port took the same route. Azur was on horseback, a pleasure for her that Jawaad often granted her. The Ar’anthia spent much of their lives in the saddle, and some claimed that, like the nomads of the Cymiad steppes, they knew how to ride before they could walk. As for Lisa, he had grabbed her by the hips and held her against him for the duration of the journey to Radia Granateo. Still closed and silent, she didn’t admit to him – and wouldn’t until much later – that she was seeing a horse up close for the first time in her life.
Lisa was always afraid. She was just a little less terrified now; Azur had understood that it would take patience for her to begin to trust. She had plenty of it and would do her best to tame her master’s new slave. Jawaad had made no comment on seeing Lisa dressed, very prettily indeed, in a comfortable, loose-fitting short tunic of ecru cotton, with mid-length sleeves enhanced by an elegant gold-thread trim, and a pair of simple leather sandals. It was the first time she’d been allowed to wear shoes. Lisa was almost uncomfortable.
She was finally discovering, with a mixture of fascination and dread, the city of Armanth. She had seen virtually nothing of it in the months she’d been stranded on Loss. Tonight, riding in the embrace of the arms of this man whose scent she couldn’t catch without immediately feeling an intoxicating whiff of sensuality, she would cross it in all its breadth. The ride would take an hour, and she’d have plenty of time to observe and memorize this city from another time and another world.
Everything was different. There were many comparisons, similarities, with her hometown, to which she could have clung. Like the dimensions: Paris is a huge city, and Armanth was roughly the same size. Some facades reminded her of the alleys and courtyards between Rue Vieille du Temple and Rue des Francs Bourgeois, with their 16th-century architecture; some quarters of the tightly-packed houses of Ile de la Cité. She also thought of the Italian Palacios or the souk alleys in the heart of Marrakech, although she’d only ever seen them in photos or on TV. But Armanth gave her a much more dizzying sense of a plunge into a baroque film past in cloak-and-dagger costumes. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see a flamboyantly dressed musketeer emerge from an alleyway. But she didn’t see one, and soon realized that she had made a huge mistake in her comparisons.
Most of the people she saw had Middle Eastern features, and both their looks and their attire were a sort of mix between the trappings of a disheveled Mediterranean Renaissance, and the trappings of an Arab world from which all the pomp of the Arabian Nights had been expunged. There were so many people in the streets, so many stores and stalls squeezed together, that trying to detail each one, despite the slow pace of the journey on horseback, made his head spin. Too many colors, too many overlays. Some porches opened onto small courtyards, almost vomiting their workshops onto the street, where children were toiling away. Others didn’t even hide the heaps of rubbish dumped on the pavement, serving as dog troughs, and other stranger animals, which she tried to equate with rats or pigs and poultry, but which were too far removed for her earthbound mind and would remain unknown to her. There was such a variety of noises, shouts and smells, sometimes bordering on the unbearable, and so much chaos that she experienced shivers of panic. An immense mass of people, and obviously no police or city services that she could recognize as such. A human mass squeezed to suffocation, with so little order, law or organization, and which seemed to function without really caring about the nature of the miracle that participated in the invisible harmony of its ordering.
Lisa didn’t know that there were a million and almost a quarter inhabitants in the city, all coping with the chaos that was overtaking it; but when Jawaad took the sloping streets barred by flights of steps that Armanthians here call terraces, towards the bay, she could almost take in the whole city with her eyes and realize its immensity. From the north, facing the cliffs, a white fortress of colonnades, domed roofs and minaret spire-like towers. At its feet, an incredible series of terraces, gardens, walls, temples and bastion: the Palace of the Council of Peers, the heart of the city. It dominated the city for over a hundred meters, stretching as far as the eye could see across the Argas delta, all the way to the west, which was thus nothing more than an immense port made up of dykes, jetties and crowded artificial islets, where every inch of land taken from the sea was built on and occupied. In the misty, humid late afternoon of the rainy season, it was simply surreal; so astonishing, so surprising that Lisa would have been transfixed if sordid reality hadn’t strained to appear unexpectedly at the corner of her eye. She could see, without being able to ignore them: destitute lepers, beggar old men and starving children trying to attract the pity of passers-by; men abusing a servant or a slave, she wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference; the biting crack of a whip and, in response, bursts of pleading voices; further away, echoes of a brawl. And then, in the midst of this grandiose cityscape, as the little company descended towards the sea, and the arsenals, she saw, immense, stretching almost to infinity – she thought later that terror had given her this impression, but it wasn’t entirely false – the Marché Aux Cages, the city within the city.
At the sight of him, and the hundreds of cramped pens, no doubt containing thousands of human beings enslaved as she was, she felt a blade of ice sink into her insides, freezing her heart. She felt nauseous and burst into tears immediately, to the surprise of Azur who was standing right behind her on horseback. Jawaad didn’t need to ask what was going on. With authority, he put his hand to Lisa’s face, blinding her while leaving her to cry without a care in the world. But if Lisa couldn’t see – and she almost wanted to thank the master merchant if she’d dared – she could clearly hear the vast, distant rumor rising up from the Cage Market: the echo of complaints, pleas and thousands of tears of despair…
The Radia Granateo, even as evening fell, was not known for its peace and quiet. The night had to have completely taken hold for it to succeed – and not always – in chasing away the men who worked there on the shipyards, from the beginning to the end of the slightest glimmer of daylight. Some craftsmen would start their day long before dawn, while others would wait until after dusk by the light of Ortentia, lamparos, lanterns and even a few loss-metal lamps, in this human anthill of merchant ship builders and repairers. But tonight, on the quays, the night would have to admit defeat to frighten the men into hiding in their homes: there was a particularly dense, enthusiastic and busy crowd all along the pier, carrying out a task that nothing could interrupt. The Callianis was being loaded to be ready before the last evening tide, and more than a hundred people were working around the sailboat.
Jawaad lifted Lisa to the ground before jumping off his mount, greeted by Damas and Theobos. The latter, as usual, was wearing out his vocal cords, shouting orders at the men who were loading the cargo, peppered with ever more original insults.
Lisa trembled, still lost and whimpering, shaken from having embraced with all her senses and all too lucidly the horror and immensity of the Cages Market from which she had been extricated three months earlier. It was only a few blocks away, just beyond one of the arms of the Argas. But fortunately, the Radia buildings totally blocked his view. Jawaad slapped him on the back of the head as he walked towards the two men. The gesture had been made without any violence; it was just mostly surprising. Lisa hiccupped and swallowed her tears of astonishment. This was the master merchant’s goal, and he let Azur take care of her.
Theobos anticipated his boss’s question. He was getting to know him:
“We’re all set! All we needed was your convoy and your stuff, Jawaad! But by Aeolus’ ass, there’s still something seriously wrong!”
The master merchant raised a puzzled eyebrow at his master builder. And Damas, an amused and slightly disillusioned expression further accentuating his dry features, explained:
“The Callianis has not been christened. Theobos fears you’ll incur the wrath of the gods of the oceans, the winds, whatever you like, because you don’t let a ship sail without christening.”
The foreman insisted:
“Jawaad, I can’t let MY boat leave MY shipyard without being christened. Especially this one! You understand, I know you’re not god-fearing men, but my workers care, you know?”
Jawaad smiled.
“And you too, right? It’s my boat. But what’s stopping the Callianis from being christened?”
“But we don’t have anything to sacrifice! I’d have gone for a sika or a calf or something to do the rites, but it’s the shipowner who decides what blood to baptize his ship with, and you’ve got us in such a mess that nothing’s been done about it, and by now it’s too late. But we can’t let the Callianis set sail without sacrificing to the gods! You don’t want my masterpiece to sink just because the sea is angry about it, do you?”
Azur had joined her master, discreetly holding Lisa by the hand. She humbly greeted Damascus and Theobos, bowing low, her gaze downcast, and with a small movement led her colleague to do the same. Lisa followed suit, still at a loss. Everything was too new, too big, too strange for her. Jawaad gazed briefly at his two slaves and reached back to grab Lisa by the wrist, before pulling her ruthlessly to him:
“Are you saying that all that’s missing is blood,” he added towards Theobos, “and that it’s up to me to choose?”
The latter nodded:
“Well, with a prayer to the gods and spirits of the sea, we can make do with the minimal rite, yes.”
Jawaad nodded, and cast a knowing glance at Damascus, before heading for his ship, amidst the men finishing loading, in the mess of packages still lingering on the docks. He pulled Lisa along behind him, indifferent to feeling her tremble and gasp in panic. She wasn’t resisting, that was the most important thing. Azur also followed, watching Jawaad curiously. Of course, she had seen the look exchanged between her master and Damascus and understood that Jawaad had an idea in mind that was obviously close to his heart.
Theobos also followed in the master merchant’s footsteps. He wasn’t quite sure whether Jawaad had understood the importance of the matter and the sacred rite, and was about to point it out to him a little more, just to be sure he had been understood, when the master-merchant cut short his attempt to insist with an enigmatic smile:
“So, we’ll take care of that.”
The working men stopped as each saw their boss’s boss approaching. This created a slow movement that spread across the quay: everyone approached out of curiosity, while Jawaad led Lisa, increasingly frightened, towards the hull of the ship, near the gangways.
The master merchant knew the customs of christening and the old pagan rites dedicated to the gods of the heavens and the oceans. Even without a priest of these ancient beliefs – they were rare, even in Armanth – a man initiated into the rituals would be summoned and an animal sacrificed to bless the ship about to set sail.
And sometimes, instead of an animal, a slave’s throat was slit to sanctify a ship. When Jawaad drew his dagger from the scabbard attached to his bicep, the entire crowd fell silent. The spectators’ first thought was that the master merchant was indeed going to offer his new slave as a sacrifice to bless his ship.
Which wasn’t like him at all.
It wasn’t very common, simply because most of the time, a slave is worth far more than a sika, a calf, or any other animal usually used for such rituals. Only the most superstitious men, rich enough to afford such a cruel caprice, would go to such lengths, which some considered foolish. Slaves are utilitarian objects, but sacrificing them when cattle would do is a rather contemptible luxury in the eyes of a lossyan.
Theobos opened his round eyes in disbelief at the idea that his boss, who was notorious for making a mockery of occult forces, would commit the very act he seemed clearly intent on. Even Damascus raised an eyebrow, briefly astonished and notably reproving; he didn’t appreciate at all the idea of wasting a human life on a superstition to spirits that hardly exist except in the heads of the gullible. Azur swallowed reflexively, but a glance at Jawaad to read his face immediately reassured her. She’d understood. And of course the psyke wasn’t wrong.
Jawaad pulled on Lisa’s wrist and grabbed her left hand. She pulled on his arm in response, shaking her head and whimpering in terror, but not begging. But in her tear-drenched eyes there was evidence that she had understood what was about to happen, and no longer the will to oppose it.
There was a great silence. The only person who felt no apprehension at the moment was Azur, who was looking at her master’s face with a smile. He gave a brief, barely visible smile as he glanced darkly at his favorite. She understood his every sign better than anyone. But she remained silent, immobile and impassive. Oh, sure, she thought what he was doing was a bit cruel, but not enough to hold any grudge against her master.
In the almost religious silence that had fallen over the whole crowd, Lisa wept, staring in terror at the master merchant. Her mind was screaming at her to act, to flee, to attempt the impossible, however futile it might be. She would have no chance of escape; without even insisting, Jawaad’s grip was enough to hold her back better than any restraint. But even if she managed by some feat of strength to free herself and hypothetically lose the crowd around her, there were only the docks and the dark alleys of an immense, unknown city. If Jawaad really wanted to kill her at this moment and she managed to flee, which was almost impossible, it would only be to die a little later. What’s the point in fighting?
In her jade-green eyes, outlined with red circles and drenched in tears, there was more than a sense of doom: a final, imploring, resigned plea, even though she knew she was going to die. It was answered by two jet-black eyes, unfathomably hard. Jawaad stared at her impassively, without anyone but his psyke having a chance of guessing what his thoughts might be at that moment, nonchalantly holding the dagger in his free hand.
Azur bit her tongue, however, as she struggled to remain silent in the face of Lisa’s poignant distress, which she perceived all too clearly. It was Damas who finally broke the silence. He was neither a psyke nor a soothsayer. The situation weighed heavily on him and was even beginning to annoy him prodigiously; he wondered what demented idea was going through his friend’s head, to go and sacrifice this slave he and Abba had taken so long to find:
“Uh, Jawaad, are you sure that…?”
He didn’t have time to finish his sentence. Without warning, Jawaad ran the dagger’s edge across Lisa’s palm, cutting it wide open. She shrieked with surprise and pain, in a new fit of panic.
There was a sort of great hiccup in the crowd. Everyone had just understood.
Jawaad, unperturbed, forcibly guided Lisa’s wounded hand and, holding it, smeared her blood across the hull of his ship in a wide trail. The young Terran woman was still crying out in fear, and let out a second cry of pain. But she too had understood: she wasn’t going to die today, he had never intended to end her life and use her as a sacrificial lamb. She was alive, and the pain in her hand was stinging proof of that. This only redoubled other tears, sobbing streams of bitter-tasting relief. For a brief moment, she’d accepted that it had to end this way, so absurdly, after all. She had even almost accepted it with serenity, a serenity that Jawaad’s act had just swept away.
Without letting go of Lisa’s hand, the master merchant contemplated the long, sticky crimson mark on the Callianis’ immaculate white paintwork. No one could really tell if he was satisfied; he didn’t show it. Only Azur really understood the look on his master’s face: he was disappointed, or at least perplexed, as if he’d expected something to happen and it hadn’t. He seemed to be thinking intensely, rather than being genuinely frustrated. The disappointment lasted only a brief moment. He finally gave an invisible smile as he turned to Theobos:
“And what do we say, with that?”
The foreman, still a little stunned by the scene – he’d been bluffed like everyone else and had really expected to witness a human sacrifice, which would have been a first for him – took a moment to collect himself before raising his powerful voice, to all the men gathered on the docks:
“May the gods of the sea and heavens appreciate the sacrifice offered for this vessel! She will sail on their waves, and under their winds, and be known to them as the Callianis! May they be merciful and remember that the rites have been honored! To the Callianis!”
A hundred throats then repeated in the same clamor: to la Callianis!
Damas wasn’t the only one who didn’t shout along with the men on the site, as he watched Jawaad and wondered what the real motivation was that had led the master merchant to agree to submit to this custom; because the Jemmaï knew, it was all worthless to Jawaad. And his boss never, ever did anything without a very good reason. The other person not shouting was Azur. She looked at her master with a smile, but her expression betrayed her curiosity. What she had guessed about her master’s motivation left her pensive. Jawaad gave the psyke a dark, impassive look, before smiling briefly and ruffling her hair. He had drawn Lisa against him, who was crying out in pain and fear. Lifting her by the waist, he came to take her lips, in a kiss she immediately surrendered to without resisting, redoubling her tears. She understood nothing of what had just happened and let herself be carried away obediently, overcome by the terror she had just experienced. Her hand hurt terribly and the blood continued to flow, spilling onto the master merchant’s clothes, which he didn’t care about.
When Jawaad placed her back on the ground, she reflexively clung to him, her complexion pale, as if he’d been the only refuge she could cling to in the emotional storm she’d been plunged into. She felt dizziness coming on far too quickly and a faint taste of metal in her dry mouth, as she continued to lose blood. The maitre-marchand let her hold on to him, addressing Azur:
“Take care of her hand.”
He untied Lisa from him, almost tenderly, to push her towards the psyker. And walked over to his men, seemingly totally indifferent to what had just happened, to help them complete the departure.
***
The levitating engines roared with a deafening roar, vibrating the wood of the Callianis as it tore itself from the waters of the harbor. All the way down to the depths of the ship’s holds, under the force of copper, wood, gears and pistons forcing the Loss-metal poles together and generating their repulsion, the noise covered everything and the creaking of the hull added to the deafening din.
Sonia smiled, hiding in the bowels of the hold where the ship’s provisions were stacked. She hadn’t really had any trouble climbing aboard in the dead of night. The main risk she was taking was the systematic search of the cargo, mainly to check that the ships weren’t carrying a nest of toshs, which would soon ravage anything that could be eaten – and even anything that couldn’t be eaten.
To tell the truth, her only real difficulty had been to catch a beautiful tosh alive and carry it with her in a bag, hiding in a crate which, to any normal person, was obviously so small that not even a child could fit inside. This detail, and Sonia counted on it, hadn’t stopped him. Contortion was part of her skill set, but she congratulated herself on never having stopped training. The crate was really cramped, and the hours she spent there were long and painful.
Once loaded on board, with the rest of the goods, she had briefly extricated herself from her hiding place with her stowaway, and let go of the tosh, after shaking it copiously to make it chirp angrily, in the hold. Without any astonishment, she had watched the sailors chase after her, forgetting where they stood with their search. And in just a few minutes, she’d found a hiding place between some barrels, on the side of the storerooms already examined.
The fearsome feline slave looked up reflexively as she heard the clamor coming from the docks and deck. It was the sign of departure, and a moment later, the ship was jolted to the waters with a great shock.
She’d made it. She was exactly where she wanted to be. Once again stinking of dog urine, dirty from having had to swim across the docks in the dirty waters of the harbor, sore from her arduous hours folded up in her crate, but she had achieved her goal, according to her plans.
And smiling, she considered, without even doubting it, that Jawaad probably knew full well that she was on board.
