"In the mounds of these new graves.
In sorrow and pain and cost,
Sir, porcelain troubles me most."
"A Song on Porcelain" Czesław Miłosz
-
We sailed then, and I was a fast learner. The first time we made landfall after Pearl was in London two days later. By then, I knew how to orient myself with the cardinal directions even if I was lost. My hands were raw, scratched, and red from Smee's insistence on me practicing how to tie different rope knots day and night. I loved every second of it. The breeze in my face and the constant rise and fall of the sea under the wood. I was of the sea and I'd live by it.
When I stepped on the dock, it took a moment to adjust to standing on stable ground.
There was a frenzy in the streets. More so than I remembered with Robin. While Smee was tying up the boat, I listened to the crowds.
"The Holy Land..."
"Saladin."
"Taking the cross."
"Another crusade?" I asked Smee.
"Hm?" He perked up and looked around. "I've not heard nothing about it."
Curious, I went to a group of people chatting and touched a man's shoulder. "Forgive me for the intrusion. I've been on the sea and have not heard the news yet. Has something happened in the Holy Land?"
The man nodded solemnly, "The Egyptian shah is sieging the Holy City. Prince Richard may take the cross."
This seemed alarming to me, and I reported it to Smee, who huffed. "Anyone with an army to show off can claim a land is theirs, and that they do without caring about the lives of the families. It's just a prize to them. Tale as old as time. Course Richard's going to take the cross. He has a name to make. The Holy Land belongs to no one we know the name of--the people who make their living there. Make their own pots and food to put on them."
I didn't realize until then just how much Smee reminded me of Neville. Always with something to say even if those thoughts trailed into the kingdom of the nonsensical. I smiled and closed my eyes, remembering Neville with happiness for the first time since his execution.
The city of London was different in the day. Still just as swollen with people--travelers and locals alike. The bells of different monasteries rang out, and the air was full of horse and human voices.
"People will be more religious today," Neville said, finishing his task and pulling a few baskets of fish from the boat to sell. "Best tell anyone who asks I'm yer father."
I looked at him. He was about as old as Neville, so that would work. A sailor's daughter, I thought, smiling. I could more than pretend to be that.
It felt like a lifetime since I'd last seen Robin on the hill, but it had been less than a week. Still, I looked at the London streets, watching for a green cloak.
Unfortunately, there were several green cloaks and none of them were her. They wouldn't be. Robin should have been long gone by then. I wondered if I should ever see her again, and my heart crushed. I thought about asking Smee if we could go to the tavern Robin and I had visited, but I had not a clue how to return to it.
I'd only known her for two days, but she had changed my everything. My mind. My instincts. The way I watched people looking for her. The rhythm of my breath and the color I saw the world through. Had I never met her, my spirit would have died with Neville.
I helped Smee carry the fish to the market and stood behind him when he went to the first vendor.
"What are ya doing, my girl. Come 'ere!" he yelled, waving me over to him and a confused merchant. He put his arm around me then. "You need to learn this."
"This is Owen. I went to him first for a reason, and it's b'cause I trust him, but Owen's going to pretend to swindle me so ya' know when someone thinks they can take advantage of ye."
"I am?" Owen said, pointing to himself.
"My daughter is learning the trade."
Owen raised an eyebrow. "You never mentioned you had a daughter."
"Owen, my boy. You only just learned I have a boat and you've known me for three years."
I put my smile behind my hand.
"Okay, watch closely," Neville said to me. "Owen, how much will ya give me for thirty of my fish?"
"Depends on what you have!"
"Fifteen eels and fifteen fresh perch."
Owen was not the best of pretenders. He bent over the table and pondered the fish. "Eels ain't selling well these days, but I'll give you three pennies for them. No one else will be buying them so it's this or nothing."
Smee groaned. "At least make it a realistic swindle, man."
Owen didn't break character. "Best you're getting."
The sailor grumbled. "Fine. I'll play. 45 pennies for the eel if that be true that they ain't selling and 60 for the perch. But we both know that eel are always selling." Smee turned to me. "Never take the first offer, my girl."
Owen guffawed. "I may be the one merchant who will haggle up because you entertained me this morning. Sixty for each and..." He winked at me and pulled a white daisy from his display. "A flower for the learning lady."
Marianne accepted the flower with a beaming smile while trying not to be surprised by the number. She had barely seen that amount of money in the course of a year.
"Pshaw," Smee exclaimed. "Yer married. Get those eyes off my girl. I'll take your offer."
After concluding the deal and buying some necessities, Smee made sure to buy a money pouch for me and put fifteen pennies in it. "Other thing you'll need to worry about as a girl are men ogling you. It ain't your fault, but--"
I pulled my dagger from my skirt for the first time since meeting him. "Will this work?"
Smee chuckled. "Yes, girl. That will work just fine if you need it."
--
Smee and I went to a tavern after spending the day in the market, and over the course of the day, I'd started opening up to him about my life before meeting him. Neville, the sea, the sheep, and select details about Robin.
I found an affection for him in such a short time and felt glad that it was him by the docks instead of another sailor. He never spoke to me like I was less than him, which was something I was used to by other men.
He'd been lonely, and I think that's why he let me on the boat. After an ale, I found myself wanting to know more about him. I'd talked and talked away about myself.
"What's your story?" I asked Smee.
He grinned, showing his one lost canine. "Never ask someone their story."
"You just asked me."
"Aye. But I wasn't interested in it." He stopped to chuckle a bit. "I was interested in your storytelling. No man who tells his story is a reliable narrator. Even if they think they are."
"You have a lot of nerve, being wise like that."
He shakes his head. "I'm not. Just somethin' I've noticed over the years. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they tell their stories. Some will love themselves too much and some will hate themselves too much. Some have parts they always lie about so the truth of it is never known. And some lie because they can. Storytelling is lying, lass. The words are a lie, but what the words say is the truth. Always. When someone talks about their past, you can tell a lot about who they are in the present."
"So what could you tell about me?"
"You're a liar," he said.
My cheeks quickly went hot with rage at the accusation, and he seemed to know that, but continued. "But you haven't found what you need to lie about yet."
"I...what?"
"You're a natural leader. That much is clear from the way you describe yerself making things happen instead of them happening to you. You don't care much about honor in the way others think, but you care much about your own self-honor. But you don't describe 'nyone as below you. That means you'd lie to protect someone. And as ye grow, lass, you're going to care more and more. Yer protective. Ya just haven't found somethin' worth protecting yet."
We both sat in relative silence for a few seconds before I spoke. "Please fart or something. I can't stand when moments are heavy."