Eric van Lustbader - Pearl Saga 03 - Mistress of the Pearl, Angielskie [EN](4)(2)
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Mistress of thePearl- Pearl Saga 04
Eric Van Lustbader
A Tom Doherty Associates BookNew York
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are
used fictitiously.
Tor Books by Eric Van Lustbader
The Ring of Five Dragons
The Veil of a Thousand Tears
Mistress of thePearl
Page 1
MISTRESS OF THEPEARL
Copyright (c) 2004 by Eric Van Lustbader
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
This book is printed on acid-free paper. Edited by David G. Hartwell Map by Ellisa Mitchell
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175Fifth Avenue
New York,NY10010
www.tor.com
Tor(r) is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lustbader, Eric.
Mistress of the pearl / Eric Van Lustbader.-1st ed.
p. cm.-(Volume three of The Pearl) "A Tom Doherty Associates book."ISBN0-312-87237-2I. Title.
PS3562.U752M57 2004 813'.54-dc22
2003060698
First Edition: March 2004
Printed in theUnited States of America
0987654321
In loving memory of my father,
Melvin Harry Lustbader
1912-2002
Page 2
PROLOGUE
So the black Chimaera says to the mermaiden, 'You have displeased me, and for this I will carve your
heart out and feed it to you.' And the mermaiden says, 'I would not mind so much, but I am a vegetarian.'
"
The small off-duty complement of Sarakkon laughed at the first mate's joke, and why not? The
Oomaloo was nearing the end of its long journey north from the bustlingportofCeliocco on the southern
continent. The air belowdecks was turgid and sweet with laaga smoke. But they sprang to as they heard
the lookout's long-awaited call of "Land-all!" and thundered up the companionway. Halfway there,
however, their high spirits evaporated, as the ship abruptly heeled over. Thrown against the polished
wooden bulkhead, they shook their heads as the ship righted itself. But now they could feel the
thrumming of the heavy seas, and they heard the storm call even as they rushed on deck.
The captain stood amidships, his eyes tearing in the high wind. Like all Sarakkon, he was tall and
slender, his skin, sun-washed, wind-scoured, the color of ripe pomegranates. One eye squinty from a
fishhook through it in intemperate youth. He had a full beard, sign of his rank, and through its thick curling
black hair were threaded carved blue-jade spheres, silver cubes, tiny conical striped shells. He wore a
lightweight kilted skirt and the kaldea-a wide belt of cured sea grape that circled his waist and hung down
in front in a complex series of knots, identifying his status as well as his lineage. The moment his crew
appeared, he gestured them to their stations. Moments before, the wind moaning its intentions in his ear
bones, he had signaled the lookout down from his nest. One glance to the northeast had confirmed what
he knew: within minutes the storm would overtake them. Already they were being buffeted by fistfuls of
sleet. Sensing the storm's powerful heart, he was reminded anew of how arrogant and small they all were.
Like virtually all Sarakkonian ships that made this long journey, the Oomaloo was a marvelously sleek
three-masted merchanter, but loaded down as it was with valuable cargo, the ship was less maneuverable
and thus more vulnerable to inclement weather. On top of that, the sleet, catching rigging and brass
fittings, looked to bring down the sails. Although the captain was both clever and experienced, he was
under an inordinate amount of pressure because of the nature of one piece of cargo. It was not something
he had wished to transport, but he had been given no choice by the Orieniad, the Sarakkon ruling
council.
The Oomaloo, borne by the last great storm of winter, heeled over, and the high slate seas overran its
scuppers, flooding the deck. The next wave, more towering than the last, took three of the crew, his
lookout among them, as it crashed obliquely across the deck. The howling wind drowned out their
screams as they tumbled across the canted deck, carried overboard into the wild and punishing sea.
The second mate, a parsimonious devil, and therefore in charge of the larder, made an unwise lunge for
them. The captain grabbed him from behind, kept him close to, thus ensuring that he would not lose a
fourth member of his crew to the cruel Sea of Blood. Then he freed him aft to tie down rigging the gale
had ripped loose.
Tearing his mind away from the tragedy, the captain yelled to the navigator to turn west. He and his first
mate scrambled across a deck shin deep in sluicing water, the whorled tattoos that covered their shaved
heads and bodies seeming to come alive with the actions of their muscles.
Page 3
As he seized the mizzenmast, the other asked him what he meant to do.
"You will help us put the ship under full sail," the captain replied over the roar of the storm.
"Full sail?" The first mate, a knot of muscle, a face all gnawed bone, was aghast. "That will capsize us for
certain." He turned his eyes fearfully to the mainsails already straining their sleet-grizzled grommets to the
limit. "We should be furling all sail."
"We will founder and be taken under."
"Then we should be making all haste for Axis Tyr."
"We are now heading west, the same direction as the storm."
"But that is away from Axis Tyr. The port is our only-"
The captain was already unwinding the rigging from the brass stays. "We are going to use our sails to
race ahead of it."
Still the first mate balked. "That is certain suicide," he shouted, wiping spume off his sharply triangular
goatee.
The captain grabbed his first mate by the wet flaps of his tooled sharkskin vest, slammed his back
against the mast. "Listen to us. Our only chance is to round theCapeofBroken Meridian , where
theSeaofBlood meets theIlluminatedSea . There the ship will be protected. The ship will be safe!"
"Safe?" The mate shot him a horrified look. "No Sarakkon ship has sailed this part of theIlluminatedSea ,
and you know why. The legends-"
A wall of water smashed into the Oomaloo, and the ship dipped dangerously to port, taking on more
water. The captain, seeing his navigator wrestling the recalcitrant tiller, bellowed at the second mate. With
that worthy's help, the navigator put his shoulder into it and slowly, with a painful creaking, the ship
turned her high, carved prow more quickly to the west.
"We have no time for superstition," the captain said to his first mate. His thick beard was rimed with salt
water and spittle. The silver runes woven into it glistened in the dim light. "We have our lives to think of."
"Not our lives," the first mate shouted back. "The life of our passenger. It is evil luck to sail with a female
on board."
"More superstition." The captain struck his first mate a massive blow to the side of his head. "You have
not shipped with us before. Aboard the Oomaloo our word is law." A dirk with a wrapped shagreen
handle bloomed in his fist. "Now unfurl all sail and make it quick!" The dirk's point grazed the side of the
mate's neck. "Else we swear by Yahé's sweet lips we will slit your throat."
The first mate leapt to, but not without a look dark with ferment. He and the captain worked smoothly
and efficiently, their muscles bulging, their booted feet planted wide on the pitching deck. Methodically,
doggedly in the raging face of the storm, they repeated the same procedure with the sails on each of the
Oomalao's masts. And as the ship came to full sail, it leapt forward as if propelled by the engine of a
V'ornn hoverpod. Its hull fairly lifted from the boiling sea as it skimmed along on the leading gusts of the
gale.
Page 4
Waves had ceased to overrun the deck, and to starboard could be seen the rocky tip of the thick finger
of land known as the Cape of Broken Meridian, beyond which lay the uncharted waters of the
Illuminated Sea. The captain noted the fear in his first mate's eyes, but behind the Oomaloo was a
growing wall of water, black and ugly and lethal. No matter what-if the legends were true or no-there
was no turning back. A sure death rode their stern and would doubtless overtake them should their
speed falter.
He strode aft, climbing the short, slippery companionway to where the navigator held the juddering tiller
steady.
"When we come abeam of the cape make ready to turn her hard to starboard," he growled. "We want
to get land between us and the storm as quickly as possible."
The navigator nodded. He had shipped with the captain since their youth. His teeth were gritted, and the
cords of his neck stood out in stark relief with the effort of holding the Oomaloo on course. For an
instant, he caught the captain's eye, and the look that passed between them served as silent tribute to the
crew that had perished. Then they directed their attention to what lay ahead.
The area of ocean off the tip of the Cape of Broken Meridian was known as the Cauldron because it
was aboil even in the calmest of weather. Its extreme turbulence could be seen, and ofttimes felt, by
Sarakkon crews as they headed to and from the port of Axis Tyr. These deep and dangerous
crosscurrents at the confluence of the two seas were fearful enough even without the alarming
Sarakkonian legends attached to the Illuminated Sea.
The captain squeezed the navigator's shoulder. No need to voice his trepidation. The gale was hurling
them directly into the heart of the maelstrom. Grey spume flew over the high prow, which was carved
into a Protector-a composite image unique to each Sarakkonian ship. The Oomaloo's was of the lithe
body of Yahé crowned with the noble head of the paiha. In this way, the very bones of the ship were
infused with the goddess's wisdom and the mythic bird of prey's great healing powers. As the Oomaloo
began to pitch and roll in the fierce crosscurrents the captain knew that they would need all of their
Protector's powers if they were to survive.
The ship dipped precipitously as they came abeam of the cape's tip. He could see the frothy spume
geysering high into the turbid sky as the sea beat itself against the jagged black rocks. He saw the
navigator pushing the tiller, trying to take them hard to starboard. Since the winds were still too high and
unpredictable to risk sending a lookout up the mizzenmast, he dispatched the first mate to the prow to
keep a sharp eye out for any sign of rock outcroppings or reefs.
A great shuddering began to work its way through the Oomaloo as the ship entered the perilous
crosscurrents. The captain got his first look at theIlluminatedSea , and it was not reassuring. Despite its
name, the water was dark as night, the same color as the rocks that jutted from the tip of
theCapeofBroken Meridian . Even the most expert eye would have difficulty differentiating the two.
The speed of the ship, which had been their savior against the storm, now worked against them in these
uncharted waters. The captain called for all sails to be reefed, and his crew sprang to. He was battening
down the canvas when the first mate rushed up to him. His face was pale and pinched and his eyes rolled
in his head.
"We gave you an order," the captain growled, now sorely vexed. "Why have you abandoned your
post?"
Page 5
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zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl upanicza.keep.pl
Mistress of thePearl- Pearl Saga 04
Eric Van Lustbader
A Tom Doherty Associates BookNew York
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are
used fictitiously.
Tor Books by Eric Van Lustbader
The Ring of Five Dragons
The Veil of a Thousand Tears
Mistress of thePearl
Page 1
MISTRESS OF THEPEARL
Copyright (c) 2004 by Eric Van Lustbader
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
This book is printed on acid-free paper. Edited by David G. Hartwell Map by Ellisa Mitchell
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175Fifth Avenue
New York,NY10010
www.tor.com
Tor(r) is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lustbader, Eric.
Mistress of the pearl / Eric Van Lustbader.-1st ed.
p. cm.-(Volume three of The Pearl) "A Tom Doherty Associates book."ISBN0-312-87237-2I. Title.
PS3562.U752M57 2004 813'.54-dc22
2003060698
First Edition: March 2004
Printed in theUnited States of America
0987654321
In loving memory of my father,
Melvin Harry Lustbader
1912-2002
Page 2
PROLOGUE
So the black Chimaera says to the mermaiden, 'You have displeased me, and for this I will carve your
heart out and feed it to you.' And the mermaiden says, 'I would not mind so much, but I am a vegetarian.'
"
The small off-duty complement of Sarakkon laughed at the first mate's joke, and why not? The
Oomaloo was nearing the end of its long journey north from the bustlingportofCeliocco on the southern
continent. The air belowdecks was turgid and sweet with laaga smoke. But they sprang to as they heard
the lookout's long-awaited call of "Land-all!" and thundered up the companionway. Halfway there,
however, their high spirits evaporated, as the ship abruptly heeled over. Thrown against the polished
wooden bulkhead, they shook their heads as the ship righted itself. But now they could feel the
thrumming of the heavy seas, and they heard the storm call even as they rushed on deck.
The captain stood amidships, his eyes tearing in the high wind. Like all Sarakkon, he was tall and
slender, his skin, sun-washed, wind-scoured, the color of ripe pomegranates. One eye squinty from a
fishhook through it in intemperate youth. He had a full beard, sign of his rank, and through its thick curling
black hair were threaded carved blue-jade spheres, silver cubes, tiny conical striped shells. He wore a
lightweight kilted skirt and the kaldea-a wide belt of cured sea grape that circled his waist and hung down
in front in a complex series of knots, identifying his status as well as his lineage. The moment his crew
appeared, he gestured them to their stations. Moments before, the wind moaning its intentions in his ear
bones, he had signaled the lookout down from his nest. One glance to the northeast had confirmed what
he knew: within minutes the storm would overtake them. Already they were being buffeted by fistfuls of
sleet. Sensing the storm's powerful heart, he was reminded anew of how arrogant and small they all were.
Like virtually all Sarakkonian ships that made this long journey, the Oomaloo was a marvelously sleek
three-masted merchanter, but loaded down as it was with valuable cargo, the ship was less maneuverable
and thus more vulnerable to inclement weather. On top of that, the sleet, catching rigging and brass
fittings, looked to bring down the sails. Although the captain was both clever and experienced, he was
under an inordinate amount of pressure because of the nature of one piece of cargo. It was not something
he had wished to transport, but he had been given no choice by the Orieniad, the Sarakkon ruling
council.
The Oomaloo, borne by the last great storm of winter, heeled over, and the high slate seas overran its
scuppers, flooding the deck. The next wave, more towering than the last, took three of the crew, his
lookout among them, as it crashed obliquely across the deck. The howling wind drowned out their
screams as they tumbled across the canted deck, carried overboard into the wild and punishing sea.
The second mate, a parsimonious devil, and therefore in charge of the larder, made an unwise lunge for
them. The captain grabbed him from behind, kept him close to, thus ensuring that he would not lose a
fourth member of his crew to the cruel Sea of Blood. Then he freed him aft to tie down rigging the gale
had ripped loose.
Tearing his mind away from the tragedy, the captain yelled to the navigator to turn west. He and his first
mate scrambled across a deck shin deep in sluicing water, the whorled tattoos that covered their shaved
heads and bodies seeming to come alive with the actions of their muscles.
Page 3
As he seized the mizzenmast, the other asked him what he meant to do.
"You will help us put the ship under full sail," the captain replied over the roar of the storm.
"Full sail?" The first mate, a knot of muscle, a face all gnawed bone, was aghast. "That will capsize us for
certain." He turned his eyes fearfully to the mainsails already straining their sleet-grizzled grommets to the
limit. "We should be furling all sail."
"We will founder and be taken under."
"Then we should be making all haste for Axis Tyr."
"We are now heading west, the same direction as the storm."
"But that is away from Axis Tyr. The port is our only-"
The captain was already unwinding the rigging from the brass stays. "We are going to use our sails to
race ahead of it."
Still the first mate balked. "That is certain suicide," he shouted, wiping spume off his sharply triangular
goatee.
The captain grabbed his first mate by the wet flaps of his tooled sharkskin vest, slammed his back
against the mast. "Listen to us. Our only chance is to round theCapeofBroken Meridian , where
theSeaofBlood meets theIlluminatedSea . There the ship will be protected. The ship will be safe!"
"Safe?" The mate shot him a horrified look. "No Sarakkon ship has sailed this part of theIlluminatedSea ,
and you know why. The legends-"
A wall of water smashed into the Oomaloo, and the ship dipped dangerously to port, taking on more
water. The captain, seeing his navigator wrestling the recalcitrant tiller, bellowed at the second mate. With
that worthy's help, the navigator put his shoulder into it and slowly, with a painful creaking, the ship
turned her high, carved prow more quickly to the west.
"We have no time for superstition," the captain said to his first mate. His thick beard was rimed with salt
water and spittle. The silver runes woven into it glistened in the dim light. "We have our lives to think of."
"Not our lives," the first mate shouted back. "The life of our passenger. It is evil luck to sail with a female
on board."
"More superstition." The captain struck his first mate a massive blow to the side of his head. "You have
not shipped with us before. Aboard the Oomaloo our word is law." A dirk with a wrapped shagreen
handle bloomed in his fist. "Now unfurl all sail and make it quick!" The dirk's point grazed the side of the
mate's neck. "Else we swear by Yahé's sweet lips we will slit your throat."
The first mate leapt to, but not without a look dark with ferment. He and the captain worked smoothly
and efficiently, their muscles bulging, their booted feet planted wide on the pitching deck. Methodically,
doggedly in the raging face of the storm, they repeated the same procedure with the sails on each of the
Oomalao's masts. And as the ship came to full sail, it leapt forward as if propelled by the engine of a
V'ornn hoverpod. Its hull fairly lifted from the boiling sea as it skimmed along on the leading gusts of the
gale.
Page 4
Waves had ceased to overrun the deck, and to starboard could be seen the rocky tip of the thick finger
of land known as the Cape of Broken Meridian, beyond which lay the uncharted waters of the
Illuminated Sea. The captain noted the fear in his first mate's eyes, but behind the Oomaloo was a
growing wall of water, black and ugly and lethal. No matter what-if the legends were true or no-there
was no turning back. A sure death rode their stern and would doubtless overtake them should their
speed falter.
He strode aft, climbing the short, slippery companionway to where the navigator held the juddering tiller
steady.
"When we come abeam of the cape make ready to turn her hard to starboard," he growled. "We want
to get land between us and the storm as quickly as possible."
The navigator nodded. He had shipped with the captain since their youth. His teeth were gritted, and the
cords of his neck stood out in stark relief with the effort of holding the Oomaloo on course. For an
instant, he caught the captain's eye, and the look that passed between them served as silent tribute to the
crew that had perished. Then they directed their attention to what lay ahead.
The area of ocean off the tip of the Cape of Broken Meridian was known as the Cauldron because it
was aboil even in the calmest of weather. Its extreme turbulence could be seen, and ofttimes felt, by
Sarakkon crews as they headed to and from the port of Axis Tyr. These deep and dangerous
crosscurrents at the confluence of the two seas were fearful enough even without the alarming
Sarakkonian legends attached to the Illuminated Sea.
The captain squeezed the navigator's shoulder. No need to voice his trepidation. The gale was hurling
them directly into the heart of the maelstrom. Grey spume flew over the high prow, which was carved
into a Protector-a composite image unique to each Sarakkonian ship. The Oomaloo's was of the lithe
body of Yahé crowned with the noble head of the paiha. In this way, the very bones of the ship were
infused with the goddess's wisdom and the mythic bird of prey's great healing powers. As the Oomaloo
began to pitch and roll in the fierce crosscurrents the captain knew that they would need all of their
Protector's powers if they were to survive.
The ship dipped precipitously as they came abeam of the cape's tip. He could see the frothy spume
geysering high into the turbid sky as the sea beat itself against the jagged black rocks. He saw the
navigator pushing the tiller, trying to take them hard to starboard. Since the winds were still too high and
unpredictable to risk sending a lookout up the mizzenmast, he dispatched the first mate to the prow to
keep a sharp eye out for any sign of rock outcroppings or reefs.
A great shuddering began to work its way through the Oomaloo as the ship entered the perilous
crosscurrents. The captain got his first look at theIlluminatedSea , and it was not reassuring. Despite its
name, the water was dark as night, the same color as the rocks that jutted from the tip of
theCapeofBroken Meridian . Even the most expert eye would have difficulty differentiating the two.
The speed of the ship, which had been their savior against the storm, now worked against them in these
uncharted waters. The captain called for all sails to be reefed, and his crew sprang to. He was battening
down the canvas when the first mate rushed up to him. His face was pale and pinched and his eyes rolled
in his head.
"We gave you an order," the captain growled, now sorely vexed. "Why have you abandoned your
post?"
Page 5
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