Tanden made sure to make the next day difficult for Soren, although he did as he had agreed. He sat on a chair on the quarter deck, feet propped up on the bulwark. Whenever Soren was close enough to hear him, Tanden switched between dramatic complaining about how bored he was, to admittedly crude teasing and flirting. Soren ignored him with the type of patience that came from experience. It was getting so hard to shake him, which only made Tanden more determined to find a way.
When Soren wasn't around, someone else was. Ara, showing him a drawing of the Cratian city. Jale, bickering and teasing the way Tanden imagined a sister would. Ivern, coaxing him into a conversation about their next destination. Jerios, speaking solely in Deoran under the guise of making him practice. Roan, singing sea shanties. It was obvious Soren had set up a schedule, but as much as Tanden wanted to hate the fact that he was being minded, he appreciated the effort to keep him from getting bored.
And he had to admit, begrudgingly, that the day of rest did help his ankle. He knew that days, even weeks of rest was the best way to heal. He was just so bad at sitting still. But he managed for the day, and that was all he had promised.
The next day, after Soren announced who would be having shore leave and when, Tanden pulled him aside.
"I'm going into the city. You can stay here, or come with me." He continued in a rush, cutting off Soren's protest. "Once I find a translator, I'll rest. I promise."
Soren crossed his arms. "So we're going out today to find a translator? Not to explore?"
Tanden hoped those options would go hand in hand, but yes, the focus would be the translator. He nodded. "Of course. Please, mate. I won't be so restless if I have something to concentrate on."
"I know," Soren agreed. "Aye, all right. I'll just let Ivern know where we're going." He walked over, leaving Tanden near the gangway.
He wouldn't be completely happy with a translator, not compared to exploring the city and talking to locals. But learning a new language or two would keep him occupied.
When Soren returned, it was with Jale in tow. Soren didn't wait for Tanden to ask, just nodded. "Aye, she's coming because she isn't afraid to tell you when you've had enough."
"Ah. So you're outnumbering me."
"Also, I'm on leave," Jale added with a smile. "And I'd rather follow you two around than go off on my own."
Tanden returned her smile. "Well, in that case, you're welcome to join us." He turned around, accepted Soren's help to step up onto the gangway, and soon was leading the way through the maze of docks.
He had given this hunt quite a bit of thought, and believed he had narrowed down the likeliest place to find someone fluent in multiple languages, who might also be looking for money. A port tavern. Ports were a place for coming and going. They were always filled with people from different countries, who spoke different languages. They were always filled with people looking for work. And those two types of people would converge in taverns. Tanden was pretty certain of that.
They wandered through the port, stepping into any building they passed by that seemed like a tavern. The first few they visited yielded no results. Tanden asked, but no one could speak any of the languages he knew. He was getting frustrated, both at the lack of a promising teacher, and his ankle, when he decided to try one last tavern.
At first glance it seemed like a higher class establishment. The lighting was better, the tables and chairs not only matched but looked sturdy and clean. The patrons were clearly richer, as well, with nicer clothes, sitting in small groups talking. In the corner, a girl sung softly while playing an instrument. There was no rowdy fighting, no rude arguing. It immediately seemed like a more promising place to look.
Tanden looked around, wondering who to address first, when she caught his eye. She was wearing a patterned orange headscarf, sitting at the bar with her back turned to the doorway. Tanden wouldn't have recognized her if she hadn't turned.
Soren, who had for the most part trailed quietly behind him the entire day, took a step closer. "Do you want me to come with you?"
It took Tanden a heartbeat to understand Soren's question. Soren knew Tanden was going to go talk to her. Didn't even bother trying to convince him otherwise. Tanden realized that, appreciated it, and shook his head. "No. But stay nearby. And if I'm losing, come rescue me."
Soren laughed. "You can't lose a conversation."
"No, usually I can't," Tanden agreed. Steeling his nerves, he began to cross the room. Many opening lines fluttered through his mind. He wasn't used to having to think so hard about talking.
He sat beside her, and started talking, trying to go at it as smoothly as he always could. "I learned Tallenese while traveling across the country. Our guide, Jale, the woman on my ship, taught me. I learned Morcean from a translator who sailed with us for a couple weeks. Enough to get by, at least, and then visiting other ports and cities taught me the rest. I studied Navirian and Deoran at a training centre in Zianna for noble boys who aren't set to inherit anything. I picked up the languages with an ease none of the instructors had seen before, and they recommended I should become an ambassador. But I didn't want to do that, so instead I bought my ship, hired a crew, and dedicated my life to exploring and learning about the world. Teltish, of course, is my first language."
Elorie took the final sip of her drink, then put the tiny glass down. "What is Tallenese?"
Tanden was caught off guard, until it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't even known Tallen Tiya's proper name until visiting the country. "Tallen Tiya," he said. "The northernmost country on our continent."
She seemed to accept that answer. "I grew up speaking Alvarian and Shani, which is common for people born in Northern Alvara. We were farmers, but I didn't want that to be my life, so I left. I traveled with a land merchant for a few years, and learned Staedish. But the land routes stop at Moatt's border, and I wanted to go further, so I found work on a ship. I learned Moattish, Navirian and Teltish from sailors I met over the years."
"Shani? Is that similar to Cratian?"
"Yes, because in Teltish, you don't say the country's name correctly," Elorie said. "Cray Shia. Not Cratia. Shani, not Cratian."
"I didn't know that," Tanden was ashamed to admit it, and immediately decided to correct his map.
"No, I didn't think you would." She finally turned to him, angling her whole body toward him. "I'm still not available to work for you."
"I understand." Already, Tanden felt like this conversation was going better. He felt more himself, charming words coming easily. "If you order us a round of drinks, I'll pay. And maybe you'll be willing to sate my curiosity a bit while we drink."
Elorie raised her hand. When one of the barkeepers came over, she spoke. Tanden tried to pick out the rhythm of her words, to see if there was anything he could understand. When the barkeeper returned a moment later with two small glasses of clear alcohol, Tanden slapped a pile of siyas onto the bar. Probably too many siyas, but he didn't care to count.
The clear drink caught candlelight as Elorie lifted her glass to take a sip. "Ask your questions."
Tanden didn't know where to start. He didn't know enough about any of the Southern countries to even know what to ask questions about. So instead of focusing on the countries, he focused on her. The tidbit she had given him at their first meeting, and the life she had just described. And something didn't quite add up.
"You were born a farmer. But you're an Eko?"
"I'm not an Eko," Elorie said. She tucked a lose bit of hair under her headscarf. "My muxil is Eko. But when I was born, it was Alna. Those who farm. We get our muxil from our mothers, but when we reach twenty, we have a ceremony. To dedicate your life to your mother's muxil, or choose a new one. I chose Eko."
"Elorie-Alna doesn't have quite the ring that Elorie-Eko does," Tanden said.
Elorie smiled. "Yes, the true reason I changed my muxil. Vanity." She raised her glass to her lips for another sip. "I imagine you would have done the same thing. Lord "but I didn't want to do that, so instead I bought my ship". You've changed your muxil, even if your culture doesn't have such a thing."
She was right, of course. He had done essentially the same thing, without changing his name. Tanden touched his glass for the first time, eyed it for a moment, then lifted it for a drink. He sipped it like Elorie had, and the moment the harsh alcohol touched his tongue, he was glad he hadn't tried a larger mouthful.
Elorie watched him struggle to swallow it, a smirk on her lips. Mercifully, she didn't comment. When Tanden put the glass down, his gaze caught on Soren and Jale, sitting nearby. Not drinking, just quietly talking and trying to pretend they weren't listening in. Tanden knew suddenly what his next two questions were.
"So," he said. "I have two quite blunt questions to ask, and I apologize in advance if they're offensive. But I need to know."
Elorie leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You could invite them over. Or should I order them drinks?"
Tanden, without skipping a beat, turned to Soren and Jale's table. "Drinks?"
Soren shook his head. Jale shrugged.
"Yes," Tanden said, giving Elorie his full attention once again. "Order them drinks."
She waved over the bartender, spoke to him and indicated Soren and Jale with a lazy wave. That done, she smiled at Tanden. "Am I right in guessing that your two questions are related to your two companions?"
"Yes," Tanden said. "My first question is for Jale. Not every country treats women equally. On my ship she is an equal. I want to make sure she's safe when she travels with us. Your profession seems to indicate that women are treated well in the South."
"Foreign women are safe enough in ports," Elorie said. "People are used to seeing plenty of Navirian women working as sailors. Women can become quite powerful in Alvara, as well. So the three countries in the middle accept that foreign women act like men. They don't feel the same about their own women." Her fingers fiddled with the edge of her headscarf. "I wear this in Cray Shia to be respectful. Jale should do the same, but she isn't in danger for not covering her head. At least not in the port area. If she visits the temple, or travels inland, she will be in danger. Staedin and Moatt don't share the custom."
Tanden knew Jale had heard all of that, so he didn't turn to relay it to her. He just asked his second question, except that he said it as a statement, trusting Elorie to see the question within. "Soren and I are married."
Elorie's answer was simple, and straight to the point. "Navire, Moatt and Alvara are safe. You'll get odd looks and people will be rude in Cray Shia, but you'll most likely just be ignored. But don't let anyone in Staedin know. They'll arrest and kill you without a second thought."
Tanden looked at Soren, who was staring back with wide eyes. Until that moment, the most dangerous place they knew about for being themselves was their own country. And even there, banishment, shame and ridicule would have been the worst of it. Not arrest. Not murder. Tanden was suddenly very relieved that Staedin's cliffs, and his broken ankle, had kept them from exploring the country further.
He couldn't help but be morbidly curious, though. "Is that... for religious reasons?"
"Probably," Elorie said. "I don't know much about religion, if that's what you're interested in learning about."
Tanden nodded, tucking that line of questioning away for the time being. "Well, thank you for the warning. What about in Alvara? What do you believe in?"
"Me? Nothing." Elorie finished off her drink.
Tanden, who for years had believed that every religion could be real, had a hard time wrapping his head around her answer. "What? Nothing?"
Elorie shrugged. "The Alvarian gods haven't helped me. Why expect them to be real? Or any of the others? All I've seen religion do is divide people. Hurt people. I have no need for it." The bitterness in her voice was raw and personal. Tanden knew better than to ask, even though his curiosity was nearly overwhelming.
She must have seen something in his expression that gave away his inner struggle, because she shook her head. "I thought Teltans were losing touch with their religion."
"Not—" Tanden hesitated. "No, not all of us. I'll admit that I have, a bit. But there are so many other deities in the world. I like the thought of them all existing, and working together."
"That may be the first thing we've disagreed on," Elorie said.
In an attempt to lighten the mood, Tanden grinned. "We're disagreeing on you working for me."
"I think we're putting that on hold, more than disagreeing," Elorie said. "Did you just arrive in Crayse?"
"Is that the city's name?"
Elorie laughed warmly. "You really are lost, aren't you? Yes, this is Crayse. Did you just arrive?"
"No, a few days ago. But we had to arrange things with our ship, and Soren made me take a day off to rest my foot."
Elorie's eyes flickered down. "Ah, yes. What happened?"
"I slipped at the base of a waterfall, while trying to kiss Soren."
She blinked slowly, looking up to meet his gaze. "You are a very interesting person."
"I like to believe so," Tanden agreed.
"Well." Elorie pushed aside her empty glass and gracefully slid off of the stool, onto her feet. "It's time for me to return to my ship. We're leaving early tomorrow morning. You seem to be a couple days behind. If you catch up in Alvara, maybe we can have another one of these delightful conversations. Would like another round of drinks?" She eyed Tanden's barely touched glass, then looked over at Jale and Soren. Jale had finished hers, while Soren's was untouched. "You paid enough for another round."
"In that case, yes," Tanden said.
Elorie waved over the bartender a third time, and they spoke back and forth for a moment. At the end of the conversation, she broke into a pretty laugh, making Tanden wish he could understand even a fraction of what was being said.
"Until next time, Lord Tanden," she said, and she began to walk away.
"Captain," Tanden called after her.
Elorie paused, casting him a glance over her shoulder. "Captain," she repeated, with a nod. Then she was gone, weaving between the tables and patrons.
Tanden stared after her for a moment, then picked up his glass and moved to join Soren and Jale just as the bartender brought over three new glasses for them.
The second sip wasn't as bad as the first one had been. Tanden finished his first glass, then reached for his second.
Soren was watching him carefully. "So, who won that conversation?"
"That one was a draw," Tanden said, lifting the second glass to his lips.
***
They nearly stumbled over a translator on the walk back to the Wanderlust. The man, drunk, tripped onto the road in front of Tanden, who would have stumbled over him in turn if Soren hadn't caught him.
When the man struggled to push himself up, he was grumbling in Teltish. "Goddess damn it, stupid fu-"
"Hello," Tanden interrupted. The man's mumbling caught in his throat, and he stared up at Tanden warily.
He wasn't Teltan. At least, not fully. Soren guessed he might be half-Teltan, half-Alvarian. He had dark skin—not quite like Elorie's but darker than Native Zians. His messy hair and bushy beard were a lighter brown than Elorie's, but decorated with similar beads.
Soren pulled Tanden back half a step, protective instincts raring. There was no telling what a drunk man might do, and Tanden looked vulnerable with his crutch.
"You can speak Teltish," Tanden continued, calm and conversationally, even though the man was still half-collapsed in front of him. "What else?"
The man blinked grey eyes. "What else?"
"What other languages?"
He swore under his breath, and shakily got to his feet. "Alvarian. Cratian."
He called the language by its Teltish name. Cratian. Soren could see intrigue flash across Tanden's face.
"Any chance you're looking for work?" Tanden asked.
"Captain," Soren protested.
The man glanced between the two of them. "What kinda work?"
"Translating. And teaching me the languages." Before Soren could complain again, Tanden turned to him. "I'll sit still on the ship. Isn't that what you want?"
Soren frowned. "I don't want you to hire a drunk man off the street."
"In my experience, when I meet men who are incredibly drunk, hiring them works out very well," Tanden replied, with a flash of his charming, attractive grin. It was so hard to argue with him when he grinned like that.
Soren stifled a sigh, and lowered his voice. "Just be careful."
"I know, mate. If he's terrible we'll get rid of him. But I need to start somewhere." Turning back to the man, Tanden said, "Are you interested?"
The man blinked. It was hard to imagine that he was actually following the conversation. Soren was about to try to steer Tanden away when the man nodded and spoke. "Yes."
"Excellent. Can you report to my ship tomorrow morning? The WDN Wanderlust. She's a Crelan barquentine."
"A wha'?"
"Three masts, blue sails, West Draulin and Zianna flags. Can you find it tomorrow?" Tanden asked.
Slowly, ponderously, the man nodded. "Yes."
"Good. I'll look forward to meeting you more formally when you're sober," Tanden said. "And what's your name?"
The man grumbled something, reaching up to rub his eyes. "Um... Rico. Rico-Eko."
"We'll see you tomorrow, Rico," Tanden said brightly. "And we'll work out the details for this job. Good night."
"Good night," Rico replied. He took a stumbling step backwards, clearing the way for them to pass.
Tanden carried on walking. Jale followed him, but Soren lingered, eyeing Rico. Then Tanden called him, and he turned to catch up.