Reave the Just and Other Tales by Stephen R. Donaldson Page A

love. It was not surprising that she soon went to his bed. The surprise lay in the tenderness with which he accepted the sweets of her body.
    Yet even that was not as surprising as his approach to Mohan Gopal the next morning, asking for permission to wed Saliandra.
    The felucca’s master considered that his daughter’s acquaintance with Fetim was too brief to support a decision of marriage. And he went farther: he ousted Fetim from the cabin, so that he and Saliandra could resume their normal sleeping arrangements—in other words, so that Saliandra’s nights would be properly chaperoned. Nevertheless, he did these things with such obvious benevolence, with such a distinct intention to relent in a reasonable time, that his decrees caused no offense. Having once slept with Fetim, Saliandra was secretly amused by her father’s unnecessary protectiveness. And Fetim only looked on his prospective father-in-law with more respect.
    My task was unchanged, however, and I prepared myself for battle.
    When it came, the attack of the pirates was perplexing. On the one hand, it appeared to be founded on general principles, rather than on any specific awareness of
Horizon’s Daughter’s
cargo. On the other, it lacked the usual ferocity of the curse. Indeed, it was beaten off with relative ease. Fetim himself flailed a cutlass, drew some blood, and suffered a minor cut. And Mohan Gopal’s men were sturdy and determined, familiar with the perils and exigencies of trade: they defended their vessel with both stubbornness and skill. The pirates were soon daunted and withdrew.
    In consequence, Fetim raised his estimation of himself. He also dismissed any lingering qualms he may have felt concerning his fate.
    To celebrate the victory, Mohan Gopal exercised a master’s prerogative by commanding his men to broach a consignment of wine destined for a merchant in Qatiis—Haroon el-Temud, a man of great wealth and unsavory reputation. “Let his count be short a cask or two,” pronounced Mohan Gopal with a certain unworthy satisfaction: he had accepted el-Temud’s consignment to disguise his more serious cargo; but he disliked carrying goods for a man whose honesty he did not trust. “If he complains, I will pay for the difference.”
    The crew cheered heartily and obeyed.
    During the afternoon and the early evening, the mood aboard
Horizon’s Daughter
became convivial. Having sampled good wines in Niswan, Fetim was not impressed by Haroon el-Temud’s taste. Nevertheless, he drank a comfortable excess among his comrades. Mohan Gopal did not refuse a cup or two. Accustomed to the company of men, Saliandra also enjoyed a modest libation.
    But as night closed over the River Kalabras, and the stars shone coldly from the heavens, first one and then another of the felucca’s men began to scream.
    For numerous excellent reasons, Haroon el-Temud had enemies; and his enemies had poisoned his wine. A slow acid ate at the vitals of all who consumed it. Clutching his stomach, the first victim fell overboard. The river seemed to swallow him without a sound. Howling in agony, the second flung himself at Fetim.
    Taken by surprise, and inspired by his elevated opinion of himself—as well as by wine—Fetim snatched up his cutlass and cleft his shipmate from shoulder to breastbone. Then he heard Saliandra’s wail and realized what he had done.
    No one reproached him, however. Instead, his companions sought to kill him.
Horizon’s Daughter
’s
people were being driven mad with pain. Blades flashed; screams beat against the darkness. Having drunk less than his men, Mohan Gopal remained himself long enough to defend Fetim as well as he could. Then he, too, fell prey to the poison. Turning, he knotted his fingers around Fetim’s throat and attacked the young man’s handsomeness with his teeth.
    Saliandra hung from her father’s back, trying to pull him away from her lover. I kept Fetim alive, but did not feel compelled to preserve him from injury.