Quillifer

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

he onlookers brought torches and lanterns, and Sir Basil lay pale in a half circle of light, his hand clutching at the knife that pierced his side. He gave me a dark, under-eyed look. “Goodman Quillifer,” he said, “you have unhoused me.”

“ ‘Unhoused’ is good,” said I.

He grinned thinly. “It’s a new word. I made it up.” He coughed, and blood stained his teeth.

“Oh, my darling!” cried the old man. “My darling little boy!”

Sir Basil continued to direct his black, intent stare at me. “Who helped you to escape?”

“A lady,” said I.

He laughed and spat blood. “Some whore helped you, and you abandoned her in the camp. For no woman was missing.”

“I saw her last in Selford,” I said. “She fares better than I.”

“You left her. Do not deny it.” He grinned again. “I know what it is to be a heartless young man.”

“My poor, poor boy,” wept the old man. “My beautiful boy.”

Clanking soldiery approached, five men in half-armor under the command of a young officer, who frowned down at the strange scene revealed by the flickering light of torches: the man with his mortal wound, the old weeping man in his armor, I with my sword-hilted dagger in my hand. The officer touched his little mustache with his hand.

“Who is this, then?” he asked, his eyes on Sir Basil.

“That is Sir Basil of the Heugh,” I told him. “An infamous outlaw. The other fellow is one of his band.”

Sir Basil seemed amused by this description.

“And this is Goodman Quillifer,” he said. “A young man and an orphan, heartless though no longer penniless.”

The officer knew not what to make of this, and seemingly did not care. He looked down at the dirk still in the renegade’s side, then bent to examine it. He gently removed Sir Basil’s hand from the hilt, took a firm grip on the weapon, pulled it from the wound, and then seemed surprised and a little annoyed when blood gushed out.

Sir Basil’s black eyes flashed. “Damn you, you block-headed malt-horse,” he said. He snarled. “And damn all lawyers, and damn all gods.” His head fell back and he died, his lips still twisted in a fierce, contemptuous smile.

The officer straightened, the dirk still in his hand. “Be wary of that knife,” said I. “It’s supposed to be ensorcelled, and bloodthirsty.”

The officer looked at the knife and pursed his mouth in distaste. He handed it to one of his men. “Take care of this,” he said. The soldier looked at the weapon uncertainly, then bent to wipe it clean on Sir Basil’s coat before putting it in his belt.

The officer looked at me. “Is it your knife?”

“Nay, I have another. Sir Basil died on his own blade.”

“I’ll have your knife as well.”

I handed him my dagger. The old man’s spear was confiscated, as was the whinyard that hung at his waist.

And then he and I were marched off to the citadel, and each locked in a cell.

* * *

The citadel was under military governance, and the military being more scrupulous about cleanliness than bandits, there were no vermin in my cell. But the smells were still formidable, and I enjoyed confinement no more than I had in Sir Basil’s dungeon, the more so because I had to listen to the old man weeping all night. By morning, I was impatient to secure my release. But the officer did not come on duty till ten o’clock, and then he did little but take my name. I told him to contact the owner of the Meteor galleon, who would vouch for me, but he said something noncommittal and had me returned to the cell.

At least the old man had ceased to wail.

By midafternoon, I was brought into the presence of a provost, and I was relieved to see that both Kevin and Captain Oakeshott were present. The provost, a lanky man with a habit of twirling his long hair with ink-stained fingers, made me undergo a formal interrogation.

“The other prisoner has confessed,” he began, in a Bonillean drawl. “And he has identified the body as Sir Basil of the Heugh, which confirms your claim. This hearing is to determine whether or not you committed murder, or whether there were circumstances extenuant.”

I thought that extenuant irregular, as more properly the word was the third-person plural present active indicative of extenuo, and not meant as the provost intended. But I chose to view the usage as an idiosyncrasy, and decided to overlook it. Instead, I got straight to the point.

“I tried to capture him, and he tried to stab me. My own weapon is unbloodied, as you may observe yourself.”

The provost’s pen scratched on his crown paper. “I have no way of knowing which weapon was yours,” he observed.

“My friends should be able to testify to the matter,” said I.

“Let us start from the beginning,” said the provost.

The beginning proved to be my capture by the outlaw, my witnessing of one murder committed personally by Sir Basil, and another at his order. I told briefly of my escape, avoiding the subject of Orlanda, and then explained my business aboard Meteor, and the event that led to Sir Basil’s death.

The provost asked me to sign the statement, and then sighed. “I fear I must return you to your cell,” he said. “While I will not recommend prosecution, I have not the authority to release you. That is in the hands of Sir Andrew, the Lord Governor, who reserves all such decisions to himself.” He twirled a lock of his hair. “Indeed, justice in the Island is short these days, and Sir Andrew knows only two verdicts: death, and service in her majesty’s army.” He seemed amused. “You may hang, or you may trail the puissant pike. And lucky is the man who has the choice.”

“As a privateer,” said I, “I already serve her majesty.”

“You may plausibly make that argument,” said the provost, though his tone suggested that Sir Andrew was unlikely to view my reasoning with anything like favor.

Kevin joined me in my cell for a time, and had brought dinner and a bottle of wine in a basket. And so we made as merry as we could, Kevin on my bed and I on my upturned honey bucket, enjoying bread, butter, cheese, and little sweet sausages flavored with garlic, fennel, and honey, sausages I had last seen swinging from the overhead beams in Kevin’s sleeping cabin.

My distress relieved by the wine and Kevin’s kindness, I felt as easy as I could while locked and awaiting justice in a cold room of blackened brick. I was on my last cup of wine, and determined to savor it, and so I let it dwell on my tongue for a long moment, and then swallowed. When I looked up, I found Kevin looking at me with mingled curiosity and concern.

“I wonder,” said he, “if all this is not the doing of—of the lady we dare not mention.” For I had told him of my latest doings with Orlanda, and the threats she made at Kingsmere and Innismore.

“I have wondered that myself,” said I. “And I know not which answer I would find more comforting—either she cares enough to put me in a cell, or she had nothing to do with it and I am here through my own misfortune.”

“If misfortune,” said Kevin, “that fortune may be reversed with a little effort and, perhaps, money. Whereas if you are pursued by divine vengeance, I know not what may be done.”

“Find another god,” said I, “who would act as my champion.”

He raised a hand and made a gesture that encompassed the wide world beyond the red-brick walls. “Where should I find such a being?” he asked, half in jest.

“Don’t bother asking a Philosopher Transterrene,” I said. “I’ve already looked in that quarter.” I looked into my cup of wine and swirled it in thought. “Though I do not relish the thought of two gods playing tug-of-war with my person. According to all the old stories, this sort of thing does not end well for mortals. Consider Agathe, loved by one god, and torn to bits by the hunting-dogs of another. Or Herodion, the mighty son of heaven’s King, who was driven mad by the wife of that selfsame King, and drowned himself in a lake, thinking to fight his own reflection.”

Kevin looked at me soberly. “I think too much musing on these subjects will do you no good.”

“Nor will contemplating anything else,” said I. “For consider the ancient tales, those epics and fables that have come down to us, of gods who love mortals, and who war with one another. Think of the Siege of Patara, where the gods chose sides and scarcely a mortal survived, even on the winning side. Or the War of the Champions, where the gods played with warriors as if they were chess-men, and the only victor was Nikandros the Lame, who did not fight.”

“Nikandros had at least the best mind of them all,” said Kevin, “and deserved to be King if anyone did. But brother, we know nothing really of that time, nothing beyond poet’s fancy. If a poet chooses to say an idea, or an action, was inspired by a god, is that not merely to make human thought divine?”

“Or make human action worthless,” said I. “For if we are as men in the stories, with divinities and demons whispering into our ears and prompting every action, does that not call into question our every deed? Can our lives have any meaning, if our very thoughts are not our own, and our actions prompted by others?”

Kevin’s gaze was searching. “You have drunk too deep of this draught, my friend. Perhaps in your current situation it would be best to abandon philosophy for—say—the law.”

“I will.” And then I threw wide my hands. “And in the meantime, find me a god!”

Kevin rose and began gathering the remains of our meal. “One must hope that gods are susceptible to bribes, or at least that jailers are.”

I embraced him in farewell, and then he knocked on the cell door, and passed money to the jailer on his way out. I threw myself on the bed, and abandoned myself to my metaphysical labors.

I spent another uneasy night in my cell before the thick oaken door opened, and the provost appeared to tell me that Sir Andrew had ordered my release. Very civilly he offered to share his breakfast, which consisted of raveled bread, cherry jam, salt pork, and a sweet, rather syrupy wine from southeast Loretto. “A miscellany, I’m afraid,” he said. “But I wished to give you a more civil welcome to the Island than you have got till now. A deal of the food is being reserved for supporting the population during the siege, and this is the best my varlet could do.”

“Give him my compliments,” I said.

“I imagine your meals are a good deal less varied on shipboard.”

This question gave me the opportunity of adopting the character of a much more seasoned a sailor than in fact I was. “We’re not undergoing a long voyage,” I said. “We’re rarely out of fresh food.”

“You may find that this will change,” said the provost. “Now that we are blockaded.”

That last word attracted my complete attention. “Blockaded? Clayborne’s army has arrived?”

“Not yet,” said the provost. “But one of his galleons has appeared off the coast, has already captured one of our supply ships, and will probably capture more.”

“There are many ships in the harbor,” I said. “Can a sally not be made?”

“It is a very large warship, greater than any of ours. I don’t think our captains will want to risk a battle when we can wait safely till the navy arrives from Selford.”

Indeed, the warships at Selford, which at the beginning of the war had been laid up in ordinary, were now ready to sail, and not unwilling to fight an enemy. But who would tell them to come to Longfirth, if they did not know the enemy were here?

“They will know when none of the supply ships returns,” said the provost.

“But any ships coming to the city will be captured,” said I. “Clayborne’s forces will be enriched by supplies intended for the Queen’s army.”

The provost shrugged. “You are a privateer, sir. If you wish to engage the enemy, no man in Longfirth will prevent you.”

I had no desire to take the little Meteor out to engage a great warship, but neither did I wish to be blockaded until Clayborne’s army turned up and made it impossible to leave. “Thank you for breakfast,” I said, and rose. “I hope to repay your kindness on some other occasion.”

“I apologize for the short commons,” said the provost. “And—beg pardon—I know not if you have a tender stomach, but if you have, and you want to retain your breakfast, you might not want to look up over the gateway as you leave. For that old man of Sir Basil’s hangs there by the neck, and Sir Basil in a cage, as a warning to thieves and traitors.”

“Who was that hoary old fellow?” I asked. “Did you find out?”

As the provost escorted me to the door, he explained that the old man was named Hazelton, and had been a servant in Sir Basil’s family who had known him since he was a boy, and who out of love for him had followed him in all his adventures. Hazelton had been the only one of Sir Basil’s company trusted to accompany him on Star of the North, the galleon bound for the Triple Kingdom, where Sir Basil had hoped to start a new life as a rich and law-abiding gentleman. But the ship had been damaged in the storm and sought shelter in Longfirth, and there Sir Basil had his fatal encounter with his own dirk, and never had the chance to enlarge his knowledge of legal systems by taking his new neighbors to court.

“What has become of Sir Basil’s knife, by the way?” I asked. “Might I examine it?”

“It’s been sent to the city armory,” said the provost. “It will probably be issued to some soldier. But I have your own knife just here, in the gatehouse.”

I was handed my knife, and I thanked the provost again and was on my way. I did not glance up to view Sir Basil and his servant, not because I would have been unsettled by the sight, but because my mind was already fully occupied by the matter of the outlaw, and his ransoms, and his escape. On my way to the waterfront, I met Kevin coming to see me, and we returned to the quay together.

“If he was planning on establishing himself abroad,” said I, “Sir Basil must have been carrying a fortune with him. Have the authorities searched for it? Do you know?”

Kevin was amused. “You mean to plunder the outlaw? What does the law say on the matter?”

“Insofar as the money arrived on a damaged vessel,” I said, “it might be viewed as flotsam, and thus the property of whoever finds it. However, if the money is to be viewed as a treasure trove, hidden animus revocandi, that is with intent to recover later, then half would belong to the finder, and half to the Crown. Though sometimes the courts have ruled that lost property quod nullius est fit domini regis, that which belongs to nobody belongs to the Queen.”

“What of those whose ransoms made up the hoard?” Kevin asked. “Would they not have a claim?”

“In justice, perhaps, but not I think in law, for paying a ransom is itself illegal, as assisting the crime of kidnaping.”

Kevin was surprised. “I broke the law when I paid my family’s ransom?”

I waved a hand. “You are also in contravention of the law if you wrestle a bear, dye sheep or goats, or bury a sorcerer in a cemetery. I know of no one who has been prosecuted for such an offense, or for paying a ransom.”

Kevin was puzzled. “Why would you dye a sheep?”

“To pass it off as some other kind of sheep, I suppose.”

Kevin considered this, then shook his head. “We know not what claims may be made against this hoard if we find it.”

“Yet”—I smiled—“there can be no disposition unless we find it.”

“I think you may lead us into danger.”

“Let us make inquiries. It will do no harm to ask questions.”

“Asking questions,” he sighed, “is exactly where so much mischief begins.”

But he accompanied me to the gangboard of the Star of the North, and there asked the chief mate if the authorities had come for his passenger’s belongings. They had, he said, but they found nothing, as the passenger had been unable to sleep with the constant noise of repairs, and had taken himself and his servant ashore. The passenger had called himself Morland, and was only revealed to be the outlaw Sir Basil by those who had come aboard to search his cabin.

Sir Basil had called himself Morland when he was trying to convince me I’d captured the wrong man. I asked the mate if he knew where his passenger lodged, but he knew nothing. So, I began a search of the nearby inns, providing both a name and a description, not only for Sir Basil, or Morland, but Hazelton. I had no luck.

Then I remembered that Sir Basil had come down to the quay from the city’s square, then turned right before I apprehended him. And there we had met Hazelton—which might have been pure coincidence, but also might mean that the two of them were lodging in that vicinity.

So, I retraced my steps, and found the inn before which Sir Basil had died. No one there knew him, so I went through the district, asking anyone who might have lodgers if they had a visitor.

Finally, I found a very deaf old lady who sat before her small alehouse, enjoying the sun and the traffic that bustled back and forth along the quay. The ground floor was home to a cordwainer’s shop, but the two floors above seemed to be someone’s residence. I bought a pot of ale.

“Good morning, mother,” said I. “Have you any lodgers?” Then had to repeat myself twice before she understood me.

“I have four lodgers. Two soldiers from the garrison, my grandson, and another gentleman. And only this last pays me a rent.”

“Is that Master Morland?”

“Ay,” said she, “but I have not seen him today, nor his varlet neither.”

“He has been invited to lodge with my master,” said I, into the old lady’s ear. “I am come to pay the charges, and to take his belongings.”

The old lady was pleased to hear she was to be paid. “The governor’s billeted two soldiers on me,” she said, “and I am obliged to feed them, and not a penny comes with them. Surely not even the usurper would despoil me so.”

I sympathized, and helped her rise from her chair. In a great roaring voice she called for a man named Alfred, who came out of the cordwainer’s shop in his apron, the sun gleaming off his bald head. Alfred was told to take Kevin and me upstairs to Master Morland’s room, and help me pack, while she made out the bill. We went up the narrow stair to a garret, and were obliged again to explain why we were taking Morland’s belongings.

“Who is your master, then?” Alfred asked, as he produced the keys.

“An old friend of Morland’s,” I said. “Sir Andrew de Berardinis.”

Kevin gave me a look of horror at this, but the governor’s was the only name I could think of at that instant. Besides, Sir Basil was in a manner of speaking the guest of the governor, even though the lodgings would not have been to his liking.

Alfred turned the keys and opened the low, narrow door. “You know my grandmother is billeting two soldiers without pay,” he said. “She was depending on Morland’s money to make ends meet.”

“The Estates General is meeting in Selford,” I said vaguely. “These money matters are their province.”

Sir Basil’s room was small and damp, with a fireplace that smelled of two-day-old cinders. It was probably the best place available in a city full of soldiers. The bed was narrow, and apparently Sir Basil shared it with Hazelton, for there was no room elsewhere—the place was filled to the rafters with trunks, bags, and crates. My heart leaped at the sight, and the thought of Sir Basil’s treasure-trove, but I put on a face of distress and dismay.

“I wasn’t told that Morland had so much gear.” I turned to Kevin. “Go down and find us some fellows to help us carry this.”

Kevin left, and Alfred and I started shifting boxes and bags into the hallway. There were a few loose articles of clothing, and some finely made items such as hair- and toothbrushes, and these I put in a bag. While Alfred was moving boxes into the hall, I searched the pillows, and looked under the mattress to see if anything had been hidden there, but I found nothing.

Kevin arrived with some sailors from the Meteor, and the outlaws’ dunnage was carried down the stair. I left last of all, which allowed me to search the bed again, as well as the frame of the little hemispherical window, the hearth, the chamber pot, and the low rafters. Finding nothing, I went down to the ground floor, where the old landlady presented me with her bill.

The sum was outrageous enough that I felt obliged to protest, even though it might well have been fair, given the scarcity of lodging in the city. I was eventually granted a small reduction, so I paid and insisted on having a receipt so that I could be reimbursed by Morland. After which we carried our booty to Meteor’s cabin and began our search.

There was, first of all, no treasure. I found a bag filled with fifty crowns, to pay for expenses on the voyage, and another bag with a few gold rings too wide for Sir Basil’s narrow fingers—the general lack of gems and jewelry was understandable, since I’d already stolen every jewel I’d found in the outlaw treasury. The weightiest of the bags held beautifully crafted armor, all with the dimple-marks certifying the pieces were proof against gunshot. There were several broadswords, two with gold wire inlay, two pairs of heavy horse-pistols, and one small pocket pistol. I felt grateful that Sir Basil hadn’t been carrying this last when I encountered him.

Many of the bags held only clothing, for the most part dazzling satins, silks, and velvets suitable for making a show at court, or for playing peacock among the highest in the country. Both these and the armor I assumed came from prisoners, most likely members of Stayne’s party.

I also found Lord Utterback’s slinkskin gloves, which I decided to return to him when I next saw him.

“Was Sir Basil tall?” Kevin asked. “Would the armor suit you?”

I laughed. “I have no plans to join the army!”

“You plan to go privateering, do you not? You would cut a great swashing figure on the quarterdeck.”

“And attract the enemy’s fire, no doubt.”

“Which the armor would repel. Do you not see the proof marks?”

I scorned this simplistic notion. “Only a fool trusts a proof mark. I’ll test the breastplate myself, with one of those pistols, ere I trust it in the war in which I have no desire to fight.”

To please Kevin, I tried the armor on. Sir Basil and I were of a height, but I had broader shoulders, and the armor pinched above the arms.

“It can be adjusted,” Kevin said.

“I do not see myself in armor.”

“You should have your portrait painted. You look admirable, just like Lord Bellicosus in the play. Could you not utter at least a few of that worthy’s lines?”

“I am not in a swaggering mood.” I pulled the pintle from the gudgeon on my left side, separated the two halves of the cuirass, and let it drop to the deck. “We are allowing ourselves to be distracted. I cannot believe that Sir Basil intended to pawn his armor once he arrived in the Triple Kingdom, and live on what it brought him. He must have had a treasure with him, or something that represented that treasure.”

So, we searched through everything again, very thoroughly, and eventually I found a piece of parchment stuffed into the toe of a battered old boot. It was sealed with an elaborate seal featuring whales, ships, and sea monsters, and I heated a knife over a candle and freed the seal from the document.

The parchment certified that fourteen thousand, eight hundred thirty royals were on deposit in the Oberlin Fraters Bank, in the account of one Charles Morland. I looked at the document, laughed, and gave it to Kevin.

“Do you have business with Oberlin Fraters?” I asked.

His eyes scanned the page. “I do not.”

“So, you do not know how Master Morland would reclaim his money, once he arrived in Steggerda?”

“A seal and a signature,” said Kevin, “and possibly a password.”

The fourteen thousand royals would have supported Sir Basil in great style for the rest of his life, assuming that he didn’t spend it all in quarrels and lawsuits.

“There is an Oberlin bank in Selford,” said I. “We should make a deposit there, and see how it can be drawn from another branch.”

Kevin carefully folded the parchment, and put it on the dinner table. “Do you seriously intend to defraud the bank of this money?”

“The bank has no more right to the money than Sir Basil.”

“They may disagree. And though I am no expert, I believe the law supports them.”

I shrugged. “Laws are not invariable. They are tools, not absolutes handed down from the Mount of the Gods.”

“Tools may turn on their masters.”

I took the document from the dinner table and put it in my doublet. “I know not what I will do with this. And should I do anything at all, I will be very careful.”

Kevin looked in dismay at the riot of steel and fabric that covered his cabin. “Let us see about stowing away this rubbish,” said he. “And then see about getting to sea.”

I looked at him in surprise. “You haven’t heard? We are blockaded.”

I told him what the provost told me, that a large galleon of Clayborne’s navy was taking prizes right off the mouth of the Brood.

Suddenly decisive, Kevin rose and reached for his boat cloak. “This useless hoard-hunting has distracted us from our proper duty,” he said. “We must view this sea-monster.”

In just a few minutes Captain Oakeshott had joined us, and we were in the sternsheets of Meteor’s longboat, with six oarsmen taking us down the river. It was a voyage of eight leagues to the river mouth, and though we caught the last of the ebb, the tide was making for the last part of the journey, and coming in frothing great waves up the channel. Fortunately, we were able to set a sail, and the oarsmen could rest unless they were needed to drive us through one of the oncoming waves. Still it was the middle of the afternoon before we arrived within sight of the galleon, a tall, dark shadow tacking back and forth on the glimmering western horizon.

Kevin and Oakeshott viewed the intruder with their long glasses, and murmured their conclusions to one another.

“She is a high-charged galleon,” said Kevin. “But I can see only her upper works; I can’t count the gunports.”

Oakeshott curled his lip. “I can say with all confidence that there are more gunports than we possess, and the guns heavier. For that ship is no less than eight hundred tons, and we are but an hundred fifty.”

We saw a group of gentlemen on the sandy strand, and came ashore to join them. Some were ship captains that Oakeshott knew, and others military men, among them the governor, Sir Andrew de Berardinis. He was a stout, sturdy gentleman with long white hair that flew like a flag in the fresh wind, and he was accompanied by other men who formed his military family.

I borrowed Oakeshott’s glass and found the nautical stalker wearing round onto the larboard tack, the sun flashing off the high sterncastle with its diamond crosshatch pattern, lapis-blue alternating with ochre-yellow.

“Blue and yellow diamonds,” I said. “And there is a device painted on the main topsail, but I can’t make it out.”

Kevin looked surprised, and put his glass to his eye. “That device is the blue sea-wolf,” he said. “I know that ship. She was built for the Mercer Aubrey Jenkins down in Bretlynton Head, and made at least one voyage to the Candara Coast for spices before the navy bought her a couple years ago for four thousand royals. She’s Wolf Azure, renamed Royal Stilwell, eight hundred fifty tons and at least forty guns, probably closer to fifty.”

Oakeshott and I exchanged glances. Royal Stilwell so outclassed Meteor that there was no hope of our fighting a successful engagement, nor was there any ship in harbor that could match her.

I turned to Kevin. “May we hope that Stilwell is a right hooker, and that we can outrun her?”

He looked dubious. “Close-hauled, may be. But she can carry such a spread of canvas that I wouldn’t dare to fly before her on a wind.”

And with the wind holding westerly, if Meteor left harbor close-hauled, we would be running toward the enemy, not away.

Oakeshott walked to the other captains to tell them the bad news, and I considered the consequences of our being blockaded in Longfirth. At best, our privateering expedition would be cut short, and there would be no income from Sea-Holly if she weren’t carrying supplies and troops back and forth to Selford. In the worst case, we might be held here until Clayborne’s army came, and lacking reinforcement the city fell, and we would be prisoners for having taken the Duke of Andrian’s Lady Tern.

Suspicion stabbed at me, and I wondered if Orlanda was behind this somehow, and was even now prompting Clayborne to march.

But I banished such thoughts as unprofitable, and I could not in any case stop Orlanda from doing anything she cared to do.

I glanced over the flat country, the low dunes with their sparse grasses stooped in the wind, and the two lights behind. The city was well out of sight, beyond the misty horizon.

I looked at the lights again, and again out to sea where the Royal Stilwell patrolled, and then I returned to Kevin.

“I think I may have an idea,” said I.