By the Horn of the South (The Delphis Novels Book 1) by Sue Davies

Author:Sue Davies [Davies, Sue]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: SueDaviesPublishing
Published: 2023-09-28T00:00:00+00:00

Life on Board

‘Can’t you go any faster, boy?’ says the chicken keeper. ‘Why are you so slack?!’ The man sits across from him at the prow, cages piled high beside him, one of them with its door open. There is a bird on his lap with its wings tied down and a net over its head to protect him from its beak. The animal squawks piteously as his hands press and poke at the stringy body to find and feel the outline of its liver.

Qart looks at him from under his brow and scowls. They are several days’ journey out of Ngap, days when the interpreters took their place on board and Qart became the subject of even closer scrutiny from Malavisch. One hand held out in front of him, he clutches the claws of a dead hen. Its head and neck, upside down, are jammed between his knees. The other hand yanks at the feathers. His arms, from finger tips to elbow, are drenched with blood, his knees and thighs too. Plucked feathers are caught on the wind and swoop in circles around the hawsers, and there are eviscerated animal parts all around. Feathers stick to his cheek and are caught in his hair. He turns the carcass the right way up and lays its head on top of a block. Thwack goes his axe as he separates it into three: top, middle and bottom. He throws the head and claws aside, and plunges the torso into a barrel of sea water, before he stands and, without moving his feet, chucks the carcass into a basket with the others in readiness for the ceremony.

‘Flaming Melqart, can’t you keep your blood and feathers to yourselves,’ comes a surly voice from behind him. ‘You’re disgusting!’

Qart turns his shoulder against the voice and barricades his ears to the complaining crewman. What can he possibly do to stop it? He picks up the next carcass.

‘You, boy,’ comes the same voice, louder now. ‘Stop it, I’m telling you or I’ll come up there and personally throw your precious chickens overboard!’ Something hard hits him in the middle of his back. He turns to see a bit of broken rowlock lying beside him on the deck and the angry face of a new crewman, from Rusadir by the looks of it, staring at him from a bench.

‘Look to your own work,’ says Malavisch to the man from across the bow. ‘What we do here in this sacred space is no concern of yours!’

‘It is our business if we are getting all your blood and feathers,’ comes a reply from somewhere else. ‘Stop it!’

‘Or it’ll become your business whether you like it or not,’ says the first man. ‘I’ll come up and sort you out personally.’

No wonder they’re complaining, thinks Qart, as he looks down and along the deck. The bloody water and innards from the animals seep in rivulets towards their benches, forming a wide band as it heads towards midships and pools at the men’s braced feet.

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