Quillifer

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

he prize is owned by the Duke of Andrian,” said Kevin. “Lady Tern had been gone for a twelvemonth, and her master had no idea there was a war and put up no resistance. And it’s loaded with cloves, cinnamon, cardamom, and nutmeg from the Candara Coast, spices so valuable they might as well be bars of silver.”

Delight rose in me like bubbles in a mineral spring. “I hardly think the courts will resist depriving Clayborne’s stepfather of such a fortune. Not when the Crown gets twenty percent. But,” I added cautiously, “perhaps my name should be kept out of the records insofar as that is possible.”

Kevin raised his eyebrows. “Your name? Your reputation has been damaged in some way?”

“A mere prejudice on the part of the monarch,” said I. “But I am trying to remain out of her sight for the present.”

Kevin’s look turned cautious. “And . . . the other lady?”

“It is a related story, but for another time.”

I hardly wanted to discuss Orlanda at this moment. We were in Meteor’s great cabin, or rather the half of it used by Kevin. We ate steak-and-kidney pies I’d bought on shore, and were well into our second bottle of ruby-red Loretto wine.

Kevin had told me all the news from Ethlebight. A well-spoken messenger had arrived bearing a list of the corsairs’ captives, along with the sums named for ransom. The Aekoi knew better than to send one of their own on such a mission, and tended to use men from Varcellos for this task, as Varcellos was a nautical nation between Duisland and the Empire, and so this gentleman was a Varcellan.

“I have seen the list of captives,” said Kevin. “And I should tell you, your Master Dacket is not on it.”

I looked at him in sudden sorrow, both for my master and for my hopes, for he it was who could certify me a lawyer without my having to apply to one of the Moots. That meant another one of my hopes had been pinned to the floor and trampled.

“I saw him taken, he and his sons,” I said. “Are the sons on the list?”

Kevin shook his head. “They are not mentioned.”

“They might have died in the way to the Empire.”

“Or it may be a bookkeeper’s error.” He put a hand on my arm. “Fear not, it may be sorted.”

“I fear he is lost.”

“We may be thankful that my family is coming home,” he said. “Thanks to our sale of the privateering commissions, I was able to raise the money and pay their ransoms. And a squadron of fast cruisers is now outfitting in Ethlebight, or have already gone to sea in search of prizes.”

I told Kevin some of the news from Berlauda’s court, and let him know of my various commercial ventures.

“Should I now sponsor you for membership in the Mercers?” asked he.

“I hardly think I’m rich enough.”

He looked rueful. “Nor am I now.”

I laughed. “After you’ve taken Lady Tern?” said I. “A fortune’s just fallen into your lap!”

“There will be no money from Lady Tern till the ship is condemned by a prize court, and in the meantime, I must pay the lawyers who argue our case. The ransoms took almost all my silver. I have precious little cash.”

“Well.” I shrugged. “If you need a loan . . .”

“To provision Meteor for another cruise will take more money than you possess, I fear. I’ll have to resort to a moneylender.”

“With Lady Tern as your security, you should have no trouble raising a loan. In fact, I can introduce you to some reliable bankers.”

“My family has a banker here.” Kevin poured claret into his goblet and gazed at it reflectively. “I think the wine is making me maudlin. We have been luckier than we have any right to be, given the war and all that happened to Ethlebight. And yet I feel sad that I had to pay ransoms, and think not to praise my good fortune that I could afford to pay without pawning my shirt.”

“It is hardly a night for sorrow,” said I. “Perhaps we should sing a song.”

He laughed. “Perhaps we should.”

“Yet before we break into ‘Saucy Sailor,’ ” I said, “my Sea-Holly sails for Longfirth in a few days with a cargo of soldiers and supplies for the garrison. Perhaps Meteor could convoy her to Bonille, and save me the cost of insurance. And then we two could go privateering, and leave Selford in its misery behind.”

Kevin had drunk enough wine to think this a perfect idea. While a winter storm roared and rattled through the city, we arranged to leave Lady Tern and its precious cargo in the hands of the lawyers, I paid my landlady three months’ rent in advance, new supplies were brought aboard, and the soldiers marched up Sea-Holly’s gangboard. The storm having passed, and the ships now busked and boun, we dropped down the Saelle on an ebb tide and set off across the Sea of Duisland to Longfirth, the Queen’s fortress-city in Clayborne’s rebellious domain.

The last of the storm wind came strong from the southwest, a near gale, and Sea-Holly had to reef its topsails, but Meteor lived up to its name, and plunged into each wave like an exuberant spaniel, the foam rising in white sheets from its stem. The backstays were taut as harp strings, and the timoneers fought with the whipstaff as the following sea crashed repeatedly into the rudder. The ship had come alive, the wind singing through the rigging, the timbers groaning as they worked, and flags snapping overhead. The ship’s master, Captain Oakeshott, kept a keen and practiced eye on the ship and its crew, so that nothing broke or was carried away.

I looked to windward, and saw a line of soldiers on Sea-Holly’s lee rail, every one of them seasick and jettisoning their cargo of breakfast into the ocean. There were five hundred such soldiers aboard, and I could only imagine the reeking mess belowdecks.

I was fortunate in not being subject to seasickness, and so I vastly enjoyed my day on the plunging ship, every moment taking me away from Selford, and—I hoped—from Orlanda. I hoped that, as is alleged for some spirits, she could not cross water, but then I reflected that she was a water nymph, and could hardly be brought to a halt by her native element. And then I began to worry what mischief she might be up to, were she aware of my voyage and of Lady Tern’s capture. Could Orlanda arrange for the prize court to refuse our suit? Or use her arts to persuade the Queen to confiscate the ship and all its cargo?

Darker suppositions entered my mind. She could set fire to the ship, create a total loss, and leave Kevin in debt. Or exert her power to start a plank on the Meteor, so that the ship filled and sank and drowned us all.

I tried to drive these worries from my mind, because if Orlanda were in some way overhearing my thoughts, I wanted not to offer her ideas that might surpass her own. And so I sang to myself “Saucy Sailor” and “The Female Smuggler” and other songs appropriate to the great ocean sea, and by and by my heart lifted, and delight began to fill me, for despite my troubles, I was young and at sea and on a great adventure.

During the brief voyage, I set myself to discover everything I could about the ship and its handling. I wished to be a good privateersman, and sent myself to school to become one.

Captain Oakeshott was a stern man, only two-and-thirty, though the wind, weather, and sun had left their marks on his face, and he looked older. His face had burnt to mahogany, and his long hair and full beard were black. He wore a gold ring in one ear, and looked most piratical.

The captain kept Meteor zigzagging in hopes of sighting a prize, but the storm seemed to have driven all ships off the ocean, and when night fell, we shortened sail and kept Sea-Holly close company. The screens that divided the great cabin were broken down, and Captain Oakeshott supped with us, and over fiery brandy told us a hundred stories of his life at sea, some of which were doubtless true. Then the screens went up again, and the captain retired to his half of the cabin, and Kevin to his own. I slung a hammock in Kevin’s cabin, and with the sea rocking me to slumber, I probably slept better than Kevin in his deep, coffin-like bed.

The weather moderated the next day, and Sea-Holly shook the reefs out of its sails, and we continued in company until the long, low, watery country around Longfirth came into sight, with its two lights aglow even in daylight. There we hove to, and raised a flag to summon a pilot.

The pilot was necessary, because the entrance to the River Brood was guarded by sandbanks, and these would likely have shifted in the late storm. The pilots took our two ships through the sandbanks, past the wooden lighthouses, and then guided us up the eight leagues of water that separated Longfirth from the ocean.

The wind was still favorable, and we arrived in the city just before sunset. Sea-Holly moored to one of the wharves in order to discharge its presumably grateful soldiers, but Meteor, which had no business in town, anchored in the river at a buoy, and a boat carried me, Kevin, and Oakeshott to shore. The captain had to report his business to the Lord Captain of the Port, Kevin wished to call on some of his father’s business associates, and I was free to wander over the town and enjoy myself.

I had never been in Bonille before. The inhabitants call it “the Island,” deriving the name from Bonne Isle, which I consider a false etymology. And in any case Bonille is not an island, but a peninsula; and Fornland, which is an island, is not in their view as much an island as Bonille. It is all part of their pretension.

When long ago the first of the Aekoi regiments marched to the west coast of Bonille, they viewed the piece of ocean before them and, not wanting to travel any farther, in hope called it Mare Postremum, meaning the Final Sea. They did not know that Fornland was over the horizon, and the whole great ocean beyond, all the way to the Land of Chimerae, and greatly would it have dismayed them if they had known it. So, Bonille is not an island, and the sea is not the final one, but these false ideas will probably persist to the end of time.

Now that Fornland and Bonille have been united, the Final Sea is now called the Sea of Duisland, though the old name persists on maps. The Crown claims ownership of this piece of water, and collects revenue from any foreign ships passing through.

The harbor was busy with ships repairing storm damage. Some had lost yards or sails; some had dragged anchors and collided; and one large galleon, Star of the North, bound from Amberstone to Steggerda in the Triple Kingdom, had lost two of its four masts, and had suffered some damage to the hull as well, possibly in collision with another vessel, possibly from its own fallen masts turned to battering rams by the wind.

Much of the city was built of brick, as Ethlebight, and so I felt at home, though I noted the brick was not as varied or brilliant as in my own town. As Berlauda’s outpost in Clayborne’s country, Longfirth was full of soldiers, and they had overloaded the citadel and were billeted in the town, among the people, as much an occupying army as a garrison. When word had come that Sir Andrew de Berardinis had secured Longfirth for the Queen, the Trained Bands of Selford had been mustered and sent over the sea to assist the defenders, but the Trained Bands were a militia, and were supposed to serve only for a set time. In anticipation of a siege by Clayborne’s army, these militia were being replaced by companies of professional soldiers as fast as the Crown could raise them and ship them over the sea along with supplies of food and ammunition.

I climbed the city walls, which gave me a good view of the surrounding country. It was flat and watery, and the winter sun gleamed off the quicksilver shimmer of lagoons and ponds. Behind the city, toward the interior, was the Long Firth itself, where the River Brood widened to a long, deep, narrow lake that disappeared into a misty horizon. Sentries paced the walls, and I was challenged enough so that I returned to the town, lest I be taken up for a spy.

Back in the city, I viewed the old citadel with its towering walls of red brick, where Sir Andrew’s royal garrison was quartered, and across the main square the imposing city hall, covered with the badges of its guilds and of prominent families. The scents of roasting meat came from a tavern near the hall, along with the sound of many voices singing, and I peered in the door. The singer was a young woman with a rosy complexion and glossy brown hair that tumbled about her ears, and she was accompanied by a young man playing a seven-course guitar of the sort common in Varcellos. For the most part the songs were old, and the audience was able to sing along. The smoky common room was full, and every seat was taken. I got a mug of cool, dark beer pumped up from the cellar, and stood by the back of the room as I listened to the songs and watched the hard-working turnspit dog as he ran in his wheel, spinning the roasts and fowls before the great hearth.

After a time, the minstrels paused to wet their throats and pass the hat, and I contributed willingly, though kept an eye out for any cutpurses lurking in the shadows, as such folk were known to follow such entertainers about and take purses while the audience enjoyed the performance. The minstrels wandered out into the square to drink their barley wine before singing again, and I followed them, for the inn was hot and full of smoke, and the cold drafts of winter air, drawn into my lungs, refreshed me and made me realize that I was very hungry. The inn was more crowded than ever, and I thought it might be a long time before I would find a table, especially as there were large parties that would pay more than a single man.

There was only a little light left, and I thought it was time I made my way back to the waterfront. I could find something there to eat, or return to Meteor for a meal.

I approached the musicians, told them how much I enjoyed their performance, and I thought with pleasure of the young lady’s rosy face I walked across the square in the direction of the river. I made my way down a dark lane when I heard a voice that sent a fear shooting up my spine like a rocket.

“It was a fine afternoon, sweetling, and perhaps I will seek thee tomorrow. But for tonight, I have business down by the river.”

I know not what the woman said in reply, for I had frozen in my tracks, my right hand clawing under my overcoat for the dagger I had bought in Selford. Then I heard the sound of footsteps walking away from me, and with an effort of will I managed to free my own feet to follow.

Ahead, seen dimly in the light of the lanterns set above each door, I saw the tall figure dressed much as I had last seen him, in a long dark coat and tall hat. I knew I could not let him get away, not on a dark night where he could so easily disappear, and so I followed as silently as I could.

He reached the river and turned right, walking along the quay. He passed by a tavern where a piper and drummer played for young folk dancing, and I used the racket to cover the sounds of my approach. He heard me only at the last second, but by that time I had the dagger’s point pressed against his throat from behind.

“So, Sir Basil,” I said, “I find you a long way from the Toppings.”

His left hand darted under his coat for his black dirk, fast as I remembered it, but I knew he would make that attempt, and I clamped his wrist hard in my strong left hand before he could draw the knife from its scabbard.

“Nay, Sir Basil,” said I. “That old trick will not serve.”

He straightened, my knife-point still at his throat, and stood motionless.

“I know not this Sir Basil,” he said, in that rolling Northern voice I knew so well. “My name is Morland.”

“Help!” I called. “Hue and cry! Help me!”

This halted the dance swiftly enough, and soon there were men surrounding us in a half circle, sailors and chandlers and longshoremen, some swaying drunk and others relatively sober.

“Bring the watch!” I cried. “Or fetch a magistrate. This man is a thief and a murderer!”

The half circle closed, and I saw from the grim looks on the faces of the men that I was not among outlaws, but men who hated robbers. The most ferocious-looking of them were the sailors, for sailors hate a thief on a ship, and often such a rogue disappears over the side on a dark night.

“It is a mistake!” called Sir Basil. “I am not the man!”

“I saw him kill two men with my own eyes,” said I. “And one of them was a magistrate.”

Someone ran for the watch, or for one of the military patrols that secured the district at night.

“Nay, unhand the man!” cried a voice behind me. “The man is innocent!”

I seized Sir Basil’s wrist more firmly and spun him in the direction of the sound, and there I saw the old man who had been a part of Sir Basil’s company, and who had captured me when I tried to gallop away from the ambush in the Toppings. He still wore the huge boots, but he had traded his flat cap for a steel morion, and he wore half-armor that glittered in the lamplight with gold inlay, I suppose part of that grand military array captured with Lord Stayne and his band. He brandished his spear at me, and his gray beard bristled with fury.

“Let go, you canker-blossom, or I’ll slice your weasand!” he roared, and advanced with his weapon at the charge.

The crowd knew not what to make of this, for it now seemed as if one of the garrison was coming to Sir Basil’s rescue. I could see the doubt growing on their faces.

“Bring the watch!” I cried. “Let not these men get away!”

The spear flashed at my face, and I ducked behind Sir Basil. I felt the outlaw’s right hand clench the wrist of my knife-hand, and he twisted away from me. I realized that though my hand was still on his left wrist, his black dirk was free of the scabbard, and I hurled myself into him, to try to keep his knife-arm bent behind his back, and also to drive my own knife into his throat. In this last I failed.

Perhaps, after all, the black dirk had been crafted by dark Umbrus Equitus magicians who infused it with a lust for blood, or perhaps I was stronger than I imagined, but throwing my weight into Sir Basil drove his own knife not back into the scabbard but between his ribs, and put the point into his side. With a soft cry the outlaw fell to the cobbles, and I stood with my dagger in my hand, and tried to work out a way to defeat the armored spearman who had come lunging at me out of the darkness.

The old man stood there in his big boots, his eyes growing wide as he saw Sir Basil lying at his feet, and then he threw down his spear, fell to his knees, and began to weep.