Blankmap: Book I

11. Barrelling

It was no trouble at all for Solomon to run the flag--really more of a woven, triangular mat, dyed purple and black--up to the top of the mast. A narrow crossbeam awaited him at the top, and he sat with a leg on either side of it, looking out over the jumbled rooftops of Nishaya from on high. He wondered which of those buildings had been the scene of the first violence that he had ever seen Jacques commit. That he had ever himself committed. That they had robbed to arm the ri-Marij against whoever and whatever the purple-clad assailants were.

He didn't have long to muse, however. Though it is rare for the object of one's anxious waiting to return quickly, Solomon was not seated long atop the mast before he heard shouts ringing out in the streets below. In a minute's time he saw a scene unfolding so madly that he could scarce believe it. Thundering down the cobbled street towards the wharf was a stampeding herd of barrels.

The barrels weren't moving solely of their own accord, for behind them dashed three figures with what looked like long oars, jabbing and slapping and poking to keep their charges in order as they came faster and faster toward the Petrichor's gangplank. Solomon would have recognized the squat middle figure anywhere: Rip Rap was hardly built or complected like any ri-Marij sailor Solomon had encountered, and if that weren't enough, he was cursing loudly enough to be known anywhere.

Just behind this strange crew came sprinting the full contingent of the Irooj's people, with the chieftain and Jacques at the rear. Solomon thought he could make out Melion at their fore, his arm under the shoulder of another. The Petrichor's crew gained ground with astonishing speed, the lot of them sprinting headlong behind the tumbling cascade of barrels. The cause of their hurry was no secret, for a moment later, a dozen more purple-cloaked strangers could be seen cresting the rise above them.

The bizarre chase carried on, closer and closer to the ship. As the first barrel clattered into the gangplank Solomon let out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. The assailants in purple--Solomon couldn't remember what Jacques had called them--were close enough for him to make out their faces. As he watched, a pair of spears sailed out from somewhere beneath him, over the heads of Jacques and the ri-Marij. In an instant they had planted themselves in the chests of two of the pursuing strangers. These buckled at the knees in unison, looking at one another as though in disbelief.

Though it had only been two spears, and not twelve, the lot of their foes skidded to a halt, each wary that they might find themselves the recipient of another missile. It was exactly what the ri-Marij needed. With a crash, the gangplank was pulled back, and Solomon heard the snapping of ropes as Marij blades severed the ties that bound them to Nishaya's docks. A timely wind caught the triangular sails of the Petrichor--not nearly a stiff enough wind, thought Solomon--and the great ship began to put space between itself and the shore.

With the skill born of years doing much the same, Solomon sped down the mast, landing lightly on deck.

"Solomon Hyrax," came the voice of Melion, still tinged with a hardness that the young adventurer had not gotten used to, "I suggest you duck."

He spun around. Behind him, Jara stood with a snarl on her face and a spear in her hand. Melion, standing off to the side, kicked out a foot that sent a small wooden bucket sliding toward her. It slopped a pungent black liquid over its sides as it skidded across the deck. Jara plunged the spear into the foul-smelling stuff before propping it on her good shoulder and kneeling down to the planks. She struck flint to tinder and kindled a small fire of wood shavings to light, the men and women of the Petrichor watching her every careful movement, and when the flames leapt high enough she planted the tip of the spear into their heart. It blazed to light with a violence that took Solomon aback.

One arm hungry limply at Jara's side, rendered useless by the fight on the docks, but she seemed to pay it no mind. She took a running start across the deck. When she reached its edge she reared back and hurled her flaming weapon through the air. As though it traced some invisible line across the sky, the spear soared over the heads of the ri-Marij's assailants. Solomon watched its blazing tip clear the dock completely, and, as all on board the Petrichor rushed to the side of the ship, saw it pierce the billowing mainsail of another vessel in the harbor. In an instant the entire sheet was alight.

Solomon tore his eyes from the blaze long enough to see Melion beaming at Jara. He can still smile, then, thought Solomon. Perhaps all is not as bad as I had thought. Jara, for her part, was breathing lightly, though she winced with every step as she retreated from the crowd on deck. Two crew members sprinted toward the small fire she had lit, one snatching away the bucket of sludge that had burned so angrily on the tip of the spear, the other dousing the flames with a bucket of water.

"You see what she has done?" Melion stood behind Solomon, gesturing at Jara's back as she limped off. "Our...friends on the shore will have, I think, a difficult time following us without a sail on their ship. Perhaps they will even be without a ship at all, if the flames spread quickly."

"She was brilliant."

"You will find, Solomon Hyrax, that Jara is the best of us in many respects. Come, lend a hand below, if you don't mind."

Solomon followed his father's friend through the bowels of the ship, emerging in the hold where the fortunate crew members had narrowly made good their escape. He spent the better part of the remaining daylight belowdecks, helping Rip Rap and the sailors roll barrels to their proper locations and clean up the spills that had resulted from their hasty arrival. Upon his first trip to the kitchens he was struck with a pang of guilt--hadn't he already messed with a barrel earlier that day, taking something from the ri-Marij to gain something of his own? But amidst the chaos of the day, no one seemed to notice anything amiss with a single barrel of fish.