Strange Noises Fiction by Rachel Greenham

Sam's right, of course. It was hard work, but I do feel better now I'm up on deck. And if I do say it myself this dress is rather gorgeous. Pity my hands look like barnacled reefs right now and I can't touch anything. But the sea air is helping, I think. They're throbbing less anyway.

"Anyway." Sam clears her throat and levers herself off the window seat and edges around the cot. "Do you want to go for a walk or not?" "What?" "Fareis said if you feel up to it you should get up and get some air." I really feel too tired. "I haven't got anything to wear," I point out. "Yeah you have." She opens a cupboard recessed into the wall. I can see clothes; my clothes, that Fareis had sent me. "We brought all your stuff here. Did you actually get a chance to look through it last night?" "Not really."

Sam is there the next time I wake up. She's sitting in the same window-seat Fareis was occupying the last time, reading a book. It looks like one of the ones I was given, with the inlaid wood veneer cover. She's found some elvish-style tight work trousers or leggings and a medium-length tunic with a bodice, and looks quite smart. It's night, but the windows are still open. It's warm and there are smells of cooking spices and oils and things in the air. The pain swells again as I rise to full wakefulness. I don't think it's any better at all. "Hi," I say.

The bed is moving properly. Comfortable. But I know what it means immediately: I'm on water. I'm on a ship. The movement is too stately, too damped, for a small boat. I'm in a bed that's more of a cot, with lovingly carved railings. And then the memory. All the blood, soaking in everywhere. It smelled hot and metallic. And a lock of Jalese's hair moving in the tiny breeze. I feel sick and dizzy and fevered. And my hands. My hands are in agony. It builds and builds as I approach wakefulness, and all I want to do is retreat back to sleep.

"And as well as all this stuff, she's paid our harbourmaster fees, right to the end of the month," I say, finding and waving the piece of paper from the harbourmaster's office that confirms this. "The sloop's been checked over by her shipwright, and completely reprovisioned, and made over into my name, registered here at Denhall as salvage." "We can leave whenever we want," Kerilas interprets. "Yeah!"

I'm halfway through only the third song of the evening when I realise Hethan is waving at me to stop. Everyone turns to look at him, but he just beckons, 'come here.' I feel a flutter in my stomach, that I'm in trouble for something and it must be pretty bad if he's making me stop in the middle of a song. So I collect myself and give a look to Kerilas and Lotan at their usual table, and step off the stage to go and see what's up.

So it turns out that now Beni's had her baby, the father has persuaded her to go with him when Market ships out, and she's decided to go, with her newborn baby. This is apparently a rational thing to do, which I can't argue with, I suppose, having seen the marketeer kids playing earlier. He's quite wealthy by shore standards, and he's been pretty much plying her with gifts ever since Market got into port, which she's been happy to recite to me. Sam indicates with a gesture she's already heard all this.

"Hey, Tani-baby!" Sam calls lazily across the bar when I step back into the cool of the inn's interior. "You're back." She's lounging on a comfy chair near the stove with something in her arms. "Is it all right?" I ask, feeling catty. "I mean, I wouldn't want to intrude on a human thing." "Aw c'mon, don't be like that! That wasn't my idea, was it?" I sigh and cross over to where she's sitting. "I s'pose. Not as if I was going to be any use anyway. Where did you get that?" I ask, seeing the small baby sleeping in her arms.

After clearing up the remains of the abandoned breakfast -- Kerilas and Lotan have gone, presumably to whatever jobs they're doing -- I go out shopping again; or that's what I tell myself. I'm not really in the mood to buy anything and I want to stay clear of the Neri ship, so I end up wandering along the quayside all the way to the harbour mouth to sit on the low, wide wall and look at the sea.

"Whoah there, easy tiger!" I exclaim, dancing back out of the way of Lotan's sword without dropping the covered dish I'm carrying. "Whups-a-daisy, missed-ya," Lotan replies, grinning and saluting with his sword. He's not wearing his tunic, and is all shiny musculature. Probably impressive if you're into that sort of thing. "What're you doing anyway?" I ask, still getting myself back together. For a big guy he'd turned so fast to the sound I made behind him. His sword seemed almost to dart through the air at me. "Practicing."