Book 11 : 773-774

773 Winter 3,4

Oberon was ten years old yesterday. How many tides have ebbed and flowed since I last looked at this diary! Oberon wants me to read it to him, “I’m ten years old, Baaba. I’m grown up enough to hear all your old stories. Don’t spare my feelings, Baaba.”

How about you spare mine, son?

773 Winter 3,6

I’ve been reading a few selected bits of the diary to Oberon. The early part, before I met his Maama. But now he says I have to write a bit about the last five years.

We were in Briggi for two years. Then Hemrom was offered a job as Deputy Chief Engineer in Meyroha. Both his sisters went with him, and started work as clerks in the railway offices there.

Oberon and I moved back into our house in Laanoha. Imbaal had arranged a tenant for us – a young engineer from Barioha who came to work in the workshops in Laanoha – but he bought his own house just over a year later, so our house was empty for a while. It was a bit damp when we first moved back, but a good fire in the range soon dried it out.

For a while I worked a few hours a day, four or five days a week, at the railway offices, and Behmi looked after Oberon while I was at work. Well, I say Behmi looked after him, but she was pretty busy running the guest house and the restaurant, and often he was left pretty much to his own devices. He began to get under her feet a bit, and developed some behavioural problems.

So I gave up office work. I took over Priila’s vegetable and soft fruit patch on the hill, and we sold the produce to one of the market traders. I collected seaweed and shellfish for Behmi. Oberon enjoyed being with me, and his behavioural problems disappeared.

Of course Oberon wants me to read what I’ve just been writing, and I have to tell him that I’ve written about behavioural problems.

“Not a problem,” he says, “it’s the truth.”

He’s ten. How much he reminds me of his big sister!

He’s bigger – and older – than she ever was.

“Don’t cry, Baaba!”

I’m not, and he knows it. It’s an old joke, and not really a very good one, but we both laugh, and give each other a big hug.

He’ll grow out of hugs soon enough. Too soon.

“Will I, Baaba?”

Probably. But we’ll see.

773 Winter 4,3

At this time of year, we can’t collect seaweed or shellfish, and we’ve no vegetables or fruit to sell. We can’t afford to have our firewood delivered, so we fetch it ourselves. Nearly every day, carrying a half heft each, just to maintain our stock in case of a spell of bad weather.

So even though we’ve nothing to sell, we’re in town nearly every day. Just our end of town usually, just as far as Cheapmarket. But today was sunny, and warm for the time of year, and we went for a wander down by the railway offices, and around the harbour.

And bumped into Viiniha coming out of the port office. She took us to Behmi’s for lunch – she knows we’re a bit hard up, and she can afford it.

We see Viiniha from time to time. A couple of years ago Greyr and Kazhiir – and Peyrham – came to visit us. They told us that Aibram had retired to Ramhampong, and given them Vinhaassa. They’d been running up and down between Meyroha and Bhoemar, making some money, but had gradually realized that they needed someone literate and numerate, maybe not as captain, but at least to do the negotiations for them and keep the books.

You want a purser, I told them.

We had quite a shock at the formalities at the port office here, they said. Never needed papers to come into town before. Had to tell them we were the owners of Vinhaassa, and put down two hundred coins deposit each, or leave the ship as surety against our temporary papers. Bloody stupid!

Would you be our purser?

Oberon and I discussed the question, and I wasn’t at all sure. Oberon had the bright idea: you remember Viiniha, Baaba? Would she want the job?

She might, at that, son.

We sailed with the three of them to Barioha, and sent word up the Ariha with one of the bargees, that we’d like to talk with Viiniha. All the bargees on the Ariha know each other, of course.

We had to wait five days for her, but it was worth it. She was delighted to be offered the job – and immediately suggested a very profitable contract for them: shifting a load of copper from Barioha to Perruhi.

Vinhaassa can carry a lot more copper than Liimihari could, so it’s not such a frequent job, and they still run down to Bhoemari – and sometimes beyond, albeit not to Vantun – and back, but it’s a very good contract when they get it.

Wasn’t Viiniha afraid of meeting pirates again? No, not on the Laughing Pirate, she said.

Vinhaassa’s reputation protects her anywhere within reach of Bhoemar. They’re the crew who regularly braved the Maze, where everyone knows many vessels come to grief – and if the hazards are reefs and sandbanks and fierce currents and mosquitoes not pirates, was it Aibram’s fault if people’s heads were full of images of dangerous wild men?

Yes, it was.

Anywhere else, the dragon on the prow is warning enough to treat Vinhaassa with respect.

Oberon says I have to write that Aibram sent us a lot of coins again, for the nrega we sent with Kazhiir. Two thousand, four hundred coins, in fact. And he says he owes us quite a bit more than that, but doesn’t know how he could possibly ever pay us.

Kazhiir says that since Aibram gave Vinhaassa to the three of them, it’s really they who owe us money, and as and when they earn enough, they’ll give us some, but it won’t be a lot and they’ll never be able to pay all that Aibram thinks he owes us.

And I told him not to worry, it was only luck that I had so many nrega really. If we’re ever in desperate need, I hope they’ll be around to help us out a bit.

Oberon says that I wrote that we’re hard up just a few minutes ago; and I tell him that we don’t have much income, but we do have quite a lot of money. We just don’t know how long it might have to last us, I’d just rather not dig into it unless we have to. If we start doing that, it’ll all be gone remarkably quickly.

Oberon is quiet. He’s thinking.

773 Winter 4,7

Oberon was thinking! At his suggestion, we raced back into town, and down to the harbour.

I shouldn’t have run so far, so fast. If the doctor hears about it he’ll be a very angry man. I made myself very breathless and felt ill, but a good rest and a warm skiir in the harbour office was all it took to recover. Luckily!

Happily Vinhaassa was still there, anchored just inside the new breakwaters. The harbour master signalled to them, and Greyr came over in the dinghy.

Yes, they could wait for us while we get our things. They weren’t planning on leaving until the morning anyway. And yes, they’d be very happy to take us along, just for the ride, wherever and back. No charge, of course! Why spend winter in Laanoha, when you can sail south and be back in time for mid-Spring?

We’re now in Barioha, and tomorrow they’ll be loading copper. And I’m not allowed to help, and Oberon isn’t big enough. And there’s nowhere within reach where there’s any shellfish or seaweed to collect, so all I can do is a bit of line fishing, and so far, not a bite.

773 Winter 6,7

Perruhi!

The harbour master says there’s a well-to-do passenger wanting to go to Tonki with his family, so we’re waiting here for a couple of days while a gig goes to their village to fetch them.

So we’ll get to see Tonki. I wonder where after that?

And I have a new story to write down.

On their last copper run, they met pirates a couple of hours before Orambui. Viiniha recognized the ship – the same crew that had stolen Liimihari and her cargo, in exactly the same place. Don’t worry, said Greyr. She’s not called Great Dragon for nothing.

Great Dragon? She’s called Vinhaassa (Laughing Pirate)!

That’s Aibram’s little joke, apparently. Vin (pirate) haassa (laughing) in Zhaama; Vinhaas (dragon) sa (great) in Bhoemari.

The pirates had a faster ship than Vinhaassa, and were going to come alongside, throw a grappling iron across, and board her. But they didn’t know about Vinhaassa’s design.

They never expected her to be able to do a pirouette in the water while sailing close-hauled – a short keel, and a large balanced rudder on each end, means she can turn four times as fast as most ships her size, and her crew know exactly how to handle her.

And that massive dragon on her prow isn’t there just for show. Viiniha tells with pride how it swept across the pirates’ ship just above the gunwales, demolishing their cabin, knocking the pirates into the water, and smashing their mast to matchwood.

We even came away with most of their sails, she says. All wrapped around the dragon and the forestay. We had to cut the ropes away, or we’d have been towing the wreck – or it might have towed us to the bottom. Last we saw it was still floating, and maybe the pirates managed to get back aboard. But they’re drifting even if they don’t sink, and who knows where the wind, and the current, will take them?

Middle of the ocean, with a bit of luck.

Then I think of Aari’s father, and wonder. And Aari herself.

Don’t cry, Baaba. Life is complicated. Life is what life is.

This boy is ten.

773 Winter 7,1

We visited Graashi today. No, we’re not staying with you, Graashi, we’re staying on board Vinhaassa, our ship. But we have sad news: Biishi died six years ago. And Aari, and Riini, whom you perhaps remember. Ghuhrhu, a major epidemic.

“Yes, I remember them. A lovely young woman, and a delightful baby. You must be devastated. And thank you for telling Biishi I was still here; I got a couple of letters from her. I did wonder why they’d stopped again.”

I’m sorry we didn’t write to let you know at the time.

“You must have been very busy and very stressed.”

Yes, we were, it’s true.

It wasn’t a long visit. She’s still running her guest house, but it looks a lot more run-down than it did before. I’m not sure she knows what some of her guests do for a living, or perhaps she just can’t afford her old scruples any longer.

How long ago? Thirteen long years.

She’s getting old and I suspect it’s a bit much for her. Her sons still only visit occasionally.

773 Winter 7,2

Our passenger and his family have arrived. We will leave on the morning tide.

My ten year old son has been thinking again, and has a question.

How did the pirates know which ship was carrying the copper, and when they’d be passing? Surely it’s not random, and they don’t attack every ship that passes. That would be taking an awfully big risk for them, with no certainty of any worthwhile booty.

That’s a good question, son.

“Do you think Viiniha – or Greyr – have thought about it?”

I expect they have, but I don’t know. I’ll find an opportunity to mention it. Or perhaps better if you do, then they won’t think I’m insulting their intelligence.

“But will they think I’m insulting their intelligence, Baaba?”

Oh, to be young enough to insult an adult’s intelligence and get away with it! You’re allowed, at your age, not to realize that other people have their own minds, and their pride.

“I’m not sure about that, Baaba.”

The boy speaks from experience, seemingly. And on second thoughts, I think he’s right. I’ll have to do it. As tactfully as I can.

774 Spring 1,1

That old, uncomfortable feeling – not knowing a word of the local language, and no-one knowing, not even slightly, a word of any of the languages I do know. Tonki’s architecture is fascinating, and quite different from anywhere else I’ve been, but I can’t talk to anyone, and it’s difficult even getting anything to eat or drink. All I can do is point at things, hold out a handful of small change, and let vendors pick out the coins. Happily, coins are the same here as in Laanoha, prices don’t seem to be much different, and nobody seems to want to cheat.

At least people on the street seem at ease with the world, smiling and chatting freely – with each other, if not with us! They see Oberon and me looking a bit lost and try to help, smiling and talking incomprehensibly. I smile back and say a few words in Laana, and they smile again, bow very slightly, and go on their way. Sometimes they wave a hand at some sight, or guide us to a good spot to show us something, but that’s all.

We got tired quite quickly, and returned to the harbour.

Vinhaassa is the only ship with a name I can read. Her name is actually written four times: once in Laana and once in Bhoemari on each side. I can’t read the Bhoemari writing, but I know it’s simply Vinhaassa again.

Bhoemari isn’t the local language here, but the staff in the port office know it quite well, and so do Greyr, Kazhiir and Peyrham. Viiniha is making very good progress learning it, has already mastered the script, and copes well with cargo negotiations. She’s a good deal older than I am and puts me to shame.

You don’t need to learn it, Oberon says. Viiniha has been learning it for a couple of years, with good motivation. You’d have been learning it if you were purser. The job suits Viiniha better.

I still feel a bit stupid, not even trying to learn. But Oberon is right. I don’t need to learn Bhoemari. Today I’d like to know Tonkiaan – I think that’s what the local language is called – but I don’t really need to learn that, either.

If you really want to learn another language, Baaba, you should learn Mezha. Or Maara, or Zhaama. Or all three. Learn one, the other two come nearly free with it.

Someone in Laanoha has told him that, I’m sure. That exact expression.

Of course, he says, everyone says exactly that. And they’re easy to learn if you know Laana.

Yes, son, I’ve heard people say that too. And when you’re a bit older and I start working more again, it’d be useful to understand what people are saying when they talk in any of those languages. You should learn them too.

There’s a little project for us when we get home.

Viiniha has got us a cargo. They’ll be loading it tomorrow morning, then all being well we’re leaving for Hansul in the afternoon. So this afternoon Viiniha wants us to show her Tonki, on the strength of our having wandered around it this morning!

Oberon suggests that one of the crew should come with us, to translate. “Two men on Vinhaassa would be enough, during the day, surely?”

Yes, says Viiniha, but none of them knows Tonkiaan, and it’s only in the port office that anyone here knows Bhoemari.

I have the impression she wants to talk with us privately, too. And she’s sussed out that Oberon is a discreet child well worthy of being taken into her confidence.

I should think so too, he says, with a huge grin.

Well, she knows that I tell you everything I write in my diary, anyway. So if she’s going to take me into her confidence, she knows she’s got to take you into it too.

More grin.

You haven’t said anything about the pirates yet, have you, Baaba?

No son, I haven’t. Not yet. Plenty of time.

Tomorrow morning might be a good time, Baaba.

Maybe. We’ll see what Viiniha wants to talk about.

774 Spring 1,2

Well.

I was right that Viiniha wanted to talk privately with us.

Interesting, but I don’t know what to do. I’m thinking – probably nothing.

Technically, I’m part owner of Vinhaassa. Forty percent of her, in fact. Greyr, Kazhiir, and Peyrham own twenty percent each. Viiniha has the books, clearly detailing Aibram’s instructions. She is sure that Aibram must have told the three of them.

If I’d taken the job as purser for them, I’d have had the books, and seen what Aibram wrote. What would I have done? They very clearly deliberately lied to me when they told me that Aibram had given Vinhaassa to them. Surely they should have realized that they’d be found out if I’d taken the job as purser, and seen Aibram’s books?

Perhaps they really hadn’t realized that the books would contain information like that? That is surely the only explanation.

On the other hand, what does ownership of Vinhaassa actually mean? If I don’t want to work on her, and they’re expecting to give me money when they’ve got any to spare, what’s the difference?

I don’t know.

Were they really deliberately lying, or just not expressing things accurately? What difference does it make to me, or to Viiniha? Viiniha holds the purse strings anyway, because of the four of them she’s the only one who knows how.

If they were cheating me deliberately, they wouldn’t have brought me the coins Aibram sent. Maybe they didn’t give me all of them, but I’m not going to argue about it.

Viiniha might be able to tell from the books.

I still haven’t said anything about Oberon’s question.

774 Spring 2,3

Hansul.

Another place where we don’t have any language in common with the locals. Again, everyone else can talk Bhoemari in the port office, and we can’t even do that.

But Oberon and I are getting used to it, and enjoy wandering around the city. Maybe the better weather here helps our mood. Of course it does, Baaba.

There’s a huge river, with several bridges across it, impressive wooden arches high enough for tall sailing vessels to pass underneath. The bridges are for pedestrians only, with steep staircases at each end. There are a few porters carrying prodigious loads over the bridges, but other traffic has to use ferries. There are several of them plying back and forth all the time.

The main sea port is on the south side of the river, well up river from the open sea. Immediately the other side of the river is an area of real slums – slums that make most of the London slums look positively luxurious.

Rainbow-tinted memories, Baaba, Oberon says. You were reading me your old diary just the other day, the bit about the old ruins in the bluffs above the Thames. You lived there for a while. They sound a lot rougher than this place.

And of course he’s right as usual.

This area looks to have been thrown together from bits of other people’s thrown-out rubbish – and probably was – but it’s skilfully thrown together, probably doesn’t leak much or collapse unexpectedly, and if a bit does collapse it’s not heavy enough to hurt much.

We feel perfectly at ease wandering the streets, either side of the river.

Yes, son, it would be interesting to talk with the prostitutes, but we can’t afford the price of their time, and anyway, we don’t have any shared language. They’ll doubtless know at least enough Bhoemari to chat a bit with sailors, but we don’t.

I wonder whether I really should have been reading the whole of my diary to him. Of course you should, he says. O...kay…

774 Spring 6,4

We are home. We never made it to Bhoemar, but we’ve had a good time.

Oberon agrees.

And we’ve both got a lot better at playing the fihihi!

Viiniha got a very interesting job for Vinhaassa in Hansul: a burlesque troupe wanting to travel to Miradri – a small place just a day’s sailing north of Hansul. Back in the direction we’d just come, but that didn’t matter.

On the way there, they asked if we could take them on to their next show.

How long would they be staying in Miradri?

That depended how Miradri reacted to their show. Maybe just one night, maybe two. Unlikely to be more than two.

Okay – and where did they want to go next?

Kanuku.

Never heard of it. Where is it?

It’s on an offshore island, a day’s sailing from Miradri.

Greyr didn’t know there was an offshore island hereabouts.

How far offshore? How big an island?

They didn’t know.

Greyr said he’d ask other sailors when we got to Miradri.

We were the only ship in the harbour at Miradri, but the harbour master knew all about Kanuku. You have to send a boy up a taller mast than you’ve got, to see the island before you’re out of sight of the mainland, he said. Otherwise you’ll be wandering around the ocean forever and never find it.

Unless you have magical navigational skills like some of the locals in their funny little boats seem to have. They seem to know by the shape of the waves, or the shape of the clouds, or the way the birds fly or something, but they can’t explain how they do it. I’m not sure they know how they do it themselves.

He’s not a local himself then.

So we didn’t take the troupe to Kanuku, but Miradri didn’t seem to want them for a second night and we were still the only ship in the harbour so they asked if we could take them to Muntum instead.

Oberon and I couldn’t understand why Miradri didn’t want them for a second night. We thought their music was beautiful, and their antics were hilarious; but we couldn’t understand a word, obviously. But the Miradri audience did, and laughed a lot.

Perhaps it suited a minority taste, and the people who came thought the people who hadn’t come wouldn’t appreciate it. The troupe seemed disappointed, but not surprised.

Muntum was far more successful. Could we possibly wait two more days for them, and then take them on to the next village?

Yes we could. I don’t think Vinhaassa was making much money out of them. I didn’t ask. But we were all enjoying the shows, and enjoying having the troupe aboard. They were fun. And I don’t think we were losing money.

They asked whether any of us sang, or played instruments. I wouldn’t have said anything, but Greyr told them that I had a fine voice, and that Kazhiir, Oberon and I all played the fihihi. And that was that. We had to perform.

I’d have preferred to be playing the mizma, but that was back in Laanoha.

Anyway, we performed for them, and they said they thought it was wonderful and insisted we had to do a turn at the next village. Just one, they said, we’ll do our first half, then you do your turn, then we’ll do our second half. I was very nervous, and I think Kazhiir was, too, but they insisted, and Oberon was very keen, so we did.

And at the next village, and the next, again and again, all the way to Tonki. Sometimes just one night, sometimes two, sometimes three.

I lost count of the villages. By the end we knew their shows – all three of them, they did a different one each night if they were in the same place again. We began to feel we understood them, but really we didn’t understand a word.

I got the impression the language changed subtly along the way, but I didn’t discuss it with anyone so I don’t know for sure. Was it changing because the content of the show was changing slightly, or because there were different dialects all along the route, and they knew them all? I’ve no idea.

What I do know is that in Tonki they did it in Bhoemari, mainly for the sailors I think, but a lot of prostitutes came as well. I recognize the sound of Bhoemari, but don’t understand it. But Greyr, Kazhiir, Peyrham and Viiniha do – and they were in fits of laughter.

Kazhiir tells me it’s very, very political – as well as being very funny. And very much to the taste of most of the sailors and prostitutes. I wish I understood!

They only did one night in Tonki. It had by far the biggest audience, and some of the audience apparently suggested that they should do another night, and do it in Tonkiaan.

“We value our freedom,” they said, “we’re leaving NOW.”

And we did. They’d arranged that already with Viiniha.

We said goodbye to them at Gogohra, halfway to Perruhi, having not stopped anywhere between. They were going to work on their next show, and then head back into the area where they know the languages. In a different ship, they say, and with different props and different costumes and a different show. Nobody will know it’s us again – nobody who matters, anyway.

No strange Laanohans singing incomprehensible songs and playing unfamiliar instruments! They say they loved it, and that it went down very well – but they’d be recognized immediately if it happened again.

We got a cargo for Hansul in Gogohra. We could have had one for Tonki, but Viiniha thought it probably best to avoid Tonki for a while. We had to wait an extra day for it, but the Hansul trip was more profitable anyway. Then from Hansul, back to Perruhi, and from Perruhi to Laanoha, and here we are.

Greyr, Kazhiir and Peyrham are going to take a break at home in Zhaam now, after dropping Viiniha at Barioha. When we’ll see them all again, who knows? I’m sure we will sometime.

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