Perilous Seas by Dave Duncan Page B

wished he wasn’t. He was still incapable
of walking, but he crawled aft to where Gathmor lay, and gave him a drink. Then
he dragged over a battle-ax, which was the only sharp thing within reasonable
distance, and found even that hard to hold in hands so grotesquely swollen. The
jotnar must have noticed what he was doing but they did not interfere. By the
time the last of Gathmor’s bonds parted, Rap was so weary that he was
capable of nothing more. He fell asleep where he was, in much the same place he
had been before.
     

3
    Rap
was kicked awake and told to report to the thane. Reeling and stumbling, he
hurried aft, confused by the ship’s new motion. Falling was inevitable in
his state, but he managed to make all his impacts on inanimate things-oars,
benches, tubs. To land on a sleeping jotunn might cost him half his teeth. The
sun was just rising into a blue and promising sky. The wind was strong, but no
longer dangerous, and Blood Wave was surging northward over the last remnants
of the storm swell. Even the creak of wood and rope had taken on a more cheerful
note. Perhaps today he might get dry for the first time since Durthing? Then he
reached the stern and sank to his knees before the throne, where Kalkor was
just making himself comfortable.
    For
a few minutes Rap was ignored as the thane rummaged in a leather bag, looking
for something. All over the boat, men were stirring, rising, stretching,
scratching, cursing.
    “Roll
that up.” The thane’s gesture indicated his hammock, so Rap rose
and attended to the hammock. He could not straighten under the low headroom,
but in his condition he had very little desire to. He was as shaky and weak as
a sick kitten, staggering with every pitch and roll.
    He
tucked hammock and blanket on top of the mountain of loot, but before he could
kneel-or just fall-down again, Kalkor held out a hand to him. Rap stared at its
burden in dumb incomprehension, and then looked into the jotunn’s
arrogant blue contempt.
    “You
lose a finger for every nick. “
    It
was without question a razor. Still gaping, Rap took it, opened it, and found
the finest steel blade he had ever seen, obviously dwarvish. He tried the edge;
before he felt anything, his thumb was oozing fine specks of blood.
    “Idiot!
“ Kalkor said. “Well, you know the rules. Get busy.” Rap’s
hands were still stiff and swollen, and if they had not been shaking before,
then they certainly were now. He moved near to the chair and tried to steady
his head against the overhead beams-had he been a fraction taller he could have
rested his shoulders against them instead. He was stooped over Kalkor, and much
too close for comfort or even for easy work. The thane was offering his face
... and neck.
    Why
shouldn’t Rap just cut his throat?
    Kalkor’s
sky-blue eyes gleamed. He knew what Rap was thinking, and he smiled up at him
as fondly as a lover. When he spoke his voice was very soft. “Don’t
even be tempted.”
    To
dry-shave a man on a leaping, heaving boat in a state of shivering weakness
when the slightest knick would bring mutilation-for Kalkor’s threats
would never be idle-that was a totally impossible task. The very prospect
brought sweat leaping out all over Rap’s body. It was utterly,
completely, insanely impossible! As well ask him to fly to Zark.
    “I’ll
give you about five more seconds,” Kalkor said.
    Rap
took him by the nose and lifted. The jotunn stretched his upper lip and Rap
stroked it with the razor. He did not forfeit a finger with that one. He wiped
the blade on his sleeve and prepared to try again. Kalkor had missed shaving
for several days; his golden stubble was long and tough, his skin dry and
surprisingly soft. Rap’s own face was streaming, as was all of him.
    He
could not have been wetter had he just emerged from the sea.
    Why
shouldn’t he just slit Kalkor’s throat? The man was an egregious monster,
a killing, raping, looting horror without peer. Even this whole shaving charade
was