Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

by Carol Marrs Phipps

  “Can't be that,” she said. “Nobody's paying any attention to the tar tail who's after his brush.”

  Captain Voiles, who had been standing amongst the crew, climbed to the poop deck and studied the horizon. “Pirates!” he cried. “Coming right for us and gaining!”

  “If that's a pirate vessel, why in the world are we taking down a sail?” said Rose.

  “All passengers down below until further orders!” bellowed Voiles. “And make damn sure those beastie birds stay down there with you!”

  “On our way!” cried Fuzz, waving Rose in front of him as he pictured the hold for Sidoor.

  “Hey!” she said, pausing at the bottom of the steps. “Did you ever see a vessel?”

  “No. But the poop deck's higher up than we were.”

  “I don't care. How could he see them well enough to tell if they were pirates? And if they are, why on earth take down a sail?”

  “Yea,” said Karl-Veur as he and Coady trotted to the bottom of the steps. “They're taking down more than just one sail. And did you see the distress flag as you went down?”

  “Distress flag?” said Fuzz, listening to the pounding of bare feet overhead.

  “Where are Olloo and Obbree?” said Rose.

  “Olloo?” called Karl-Veur as he stepped to Olloo and Roseen's door and knocked.

  Obbree yanked open the door. “What's all the excitement topside?” he said, looking at everyone.

  “Coady and I had hardly gone on deck before two guards ushered us back down here at cutlass point, 'for your own safety,' as they put it,” said Karl-Veur. “And they're standing guard right up the steps.”

  “I smell something rotten,” said Roseen.

  “Time to go have a look,” said Olloo as he shifted his claymore into position on his back. “Well. Maybe not just yet. How far away is the ship?”

  “Something less than three leagues,” said Fuzz.

  “Oh fiddlesticks, then,” said Olloo, taking a chair by the back and straddling it. “It's going to be a bit. Let's have those biscuits, Roseen. And let's stay quiet enough to hear what's going on topside. Now Fuzz, just what all did you all see up there?” He listened carefully with his hands behind his head. He jiggled his head from side to side at the biscuits. He ran his tongue to the back of his teeth and cut a good sized chaw off his twist.

  “So what do you think?” said Fuzz.

  “Voiles is a stinker,” said Olloo, planting his elbows on his knees and scratching his head. “I expect that when it sounds like the other ship's got here it's time for Baase and me to go up and look about.”

  “Not without Ennoil and me,” said Obbree. “We're every bit as curious.”

  “All right,” said Olloo. “Fuzz and Karl-Veur. I want you in leather and spikes with your birds ready. Rose, you'll be safe here with Roseen...” He stopped short at the sight of Rose planting her fists on her hips. “And you're wanting to use your new bow, aye?” He looked at Fuzz.

  “You'd never be able to stop her,” said Fuzz, giving Rose's hand a tight squeeze.

  “Then I want you all in leather and spikes now,” said Olloo. “And good. Every bird's already here.”

  It seemed like an eternity as they waited. No one was really hungry. They talked and listened in hitches and starts to the lazy creaking of the ship. Suddenly they all fell silent at shouts and thundering bare feet overhead. Rose's stomach churned at the fleeting recollection of chess men falling over on the last boat she was on.

  “Damn!” said Olloo. “That's 'way sooner than I expected. Get ready. On the double! Come on, Obbree.”

  Olloo, Baase, Obbree and Ennoil gathered in a whispering huddle at the top of the stair before bursting onto the deck.

  “What is it with you people?” shouted one of the guards. “We ordered you to stay below until we give you the all clear. There's going to be bloodshed up here and you need to stay out of it, or that princess just might lose her jewels early. Now get below!”

  “Nope!” said Olloo with a shake of his head. “Don't think so.”

  At that, Baase and Ennoil danced up the fronts of the guards, disemboweling them where they stood.

  “Look!” cried Obbree. “There's bloodshed all right, but every bit of it is on that ship yonder!”

  “Get below!” cried Olloo. “Birds, too! Out of sight!”

  Down the steps, Olloo had to get his wind before he could speak. “They're all aboard the other ship,” he gasped.

  “And when they get back, we're all dead,” said Fuzz.

  “So what do we do?” said Rose.

  “There's nothing for it,” said Karl-Veur. “We board the strange ship and fight on the side of her crew.”

  “He who hesitates dies,” said Obbree. “Olloo?”

  “What's your idea, Roseen?” said Olloo.

  “Are the ships tied together?” she said.

  “They must be...”

  “Well cut them loose, then,” she said, hesitating with wide eyes. “I mean, can any one of us sail a ship?”

  For a moment everyone looked at each other in stunned silence.

  “That's 'way better than hoping the crew of that ship likes our idea,” said Obbree. “There's nothing for it. Let's weigh anchor.”

  “Yea,” said Olloo, looking at Fuzz and Karl-Veur. “Can any one of us actually weigh an anchor?”

  “I spent a number of years in the Emperial Fleet,” said Karl-Veur. “My father thought I should know about those things.”

  “As Captain of the Guard of Niarg, I had very little opportunity,” said Fuzz. “But we did train aboard ship a time or two. King Hebraun liked to cover all possibilities.”

  “This takes my breath away,” said Karl-Veur. “We'll have to be ready to do everything the moment we cut the ropes. Someone will have to weigh anchor. Someone will have to get the sails up, one at a time. And someone will have to shoot anyone trying to board us. And the Marner Medhow steers much differently than any of Father's ships, but I think I can...”

  “If I have help, I can get sails up,” said Fuzz, “but it will take forever.”

  “Their sails are down,” said Karl-Veur. “If we're careful and they don't notice, one sail ought to get us beyond bowshot.”

  “Is this enough planning?” said Olloo.

  There were nods all 'round.

  “Then let's commandeer this ship!” he thundered.

  And with that, they ran up the stairs and onto the deck, Olloo, Obbree, Karl-Veur, Fuzz and Rose and all their birds with Roseen and her two seasoned strike falcons, Caggey and Smorigagh. They were met at once by six of Voiles's sailors, shouting and swinging cutlasses, who were slain within moments by the birds. Slowly, slowly they ran up the mainsail, weighed anchor and cut the cables between the ships. Karl-Veur gave the pilot wheel a tentative spin. No one noticed when the Marner Medhow began to move. When Voiles looked across from the stern castle deck of the other vessel and drew a breath to shout, Rose punctured him with her new Elven bow.

  Fifty yards away, they dared to begin raising more sails. After they'd gone a mile, they could see that the other ship had not raised a single one of its white sails. “Let's not run up all of them, Fuzz,” said Karl-Veur. “I know that it's mild as can be, but with so few of us, if a storm comes up, I fear we'll sink before we can get them back down.”

  Chapter 170

  “My dear, you are absolutely right,” said King Theran in the echoes of the polished corridor. “A walk in the orchard would indeed be just the thing.” He gave her hand a pat, threw wide the door and guided her outside to the tinkling of sheep bells beyond his peony bushes. A parliament of crows converged in a flurry of caws in the jut of woods beyond the castle grounds. “Ah! Brilliant blue sky and a dry breeze. Just right. I doubt if any apples are ready yet. Have you checked?”

  “Just the ones on the ground,” she said, brushing a strand of hair away from the tattoo on her cheek as she squinted in the light. “Donnel and I have been checking every day lately. It was rude of us
not to ask, wasn't it?”

  “Mercy!” he said, giving her far shoulder a squeeze and offering his arm again. “You and Donnel are family. You're free to go anywhere you please.” He stopped short. “I hear a commotion yonder. Is that the kitchen help picking up windfalls?”

  “Good!” she said, peering under her hand. “The food's on the board. We're ready to begin.”

  “Oh my! I just got a positively mouth watering whiff. What are we beginning?”

  “A roast in your honor, Father Theran. Donnel and Captains Girom, Erp and Drest have been on a hunt. They've been roasting boar, deer and elk. And the kitchen have brought out everything under the sun. It's easy to see that they think the world of you from all the trouble they went to just for the occasion.”

  “I'm lost. What occasion?”

  “Your birthday. We Beaks regard birthdays as times for feasting and celebrating life. Do you mind?”

  “Fiddlesticks! How would I mind being honored by my family and esteemed guests? I think it's grand. I've not had such fun for a very long time. In fact,” he said, suddenly sitting in the grass, “I'm sick to death of these shoes.” And with that, he yanked off first one then the other of his slippers and flung them far into the weeds.

  He wiggled his toes. “Now,” he said with a nod of resolution and a slap of his thighs, “I'm ready.”

  “In that case,” said Tramae with a grand wave at the gathering, “let's fill our plates and sit under the trees by Donnel and the good Captains.” She helped him to his feet and led him to the board piled high with roast hog, venison and elk and heaping bowls of beans, beets and carrots and fresh pears, just off the nearby trees. There were pickled eggs, hot loaves of brown bread and rolls. There were murmurs of appreciation at the arrival of a grand black walnut cake with butter and honey icing. And at the end of the board by the stack of plates, they were pouring out pints of mead and fresh pressed perry.

  Theran sat on the ground with his plate in his lap between Donnel and Captains Girom, Drest and Erp. “Oh my!” he said, wiggling his toes. “I had no idea you all had taken the time to go off on a hunt, Captain Girom.”

  “Good,” said Girom. “It was supposed to be a surprise for your day of honor.”

  “You mean my birthday?”

  “Why yes. How could one be more honored than to be brought into the world of the living?”

  “Well now. I never thought of it that way, but I do see your point.”

  “It's not my idea,” said Girom. “It's how everyone regards a birthday in the Kingdom of Marr.”

  “Let's let this very feast be the start of that idea here,” said Theron. “I mean if you all don't object.”

  “Wonderful!” said Girom.

  “It would only be an honor,” said Tramae.

  The company grew silent, savoring the meal as crows cawed and the dry air rattled through the apple leaves.

  Donnel sprang to his feet and set about mounding up his third plate. He hurried back to his spot in the grass, wadding a big piece of meat into his mouth as he came.

  “Now which is the hog, Your Highness?” said Girom with a bright eyed swallow of mead, “You or the meat you just stuffed in your face?”

  Donnel steered aside at once, as if he were going to give Girom a good kick.

  Girom took a swing at Donnel's leg with his greasy knife as everyone laughed and returned to eating. Jays called nearby. “He really does look like your grandson Edward, sire,” he said, after a thoughtful chew. “And if you'd like, when all this business with the witches is over, I'd be right honored to either bring him here or to take you to see him.”

  “That would be wonderful, Captain. I shall look forward to the day he and I meet.”

  Tramae wiped her mouth and turned to Theran. “I don't want to darken this dinner by bringing up such a thing as this,” she said. “but it's been more than a month since we came and neither Spitemorta nor Demonica have appeared.”

  “That's quite right, my dear,” he said with a heavy sigh. “And I'd allow that Brude Talorg thinks you all have been here quite long enough, with nothing happening. I understand this. And I want him to know how much I appreciate your coming to my aid.”

  “I'm sorry,” she said. “It sounds as if I've misled you with my clumsiness. We've no intention of leaving at all. We shall be here until the threat of Spitemorta and Demonica is over. I only have a suggestion. I'm guessing that the witches are distracted elsewhere. Perhaps we could use their distraction to our advantage.”

  “I'm listening,” he said.

  “Good. The captains and Donnel and I have been discussing this for a time, now. If we were to discover just where Spitemorta and Demonica happen to be, we might be able to take them by surprise before they're ready to make a move against us here. I can't imagine that they'd expect it from us. And surprise is almost certainly our only chance at success against them.”

  Theran gave a decisive nod, and set his empty plate in the grass. Suddenly he was on his feet. “Time to kick their arse!” he bellowed, thrusting out his brass goblet of mead.

  And with that, there was a splashing collision of goblets and a roar of cheers.

  ***

  Suddenly, Spitemorta's wagonload of skinweleriou was straddling the green carpet runner on the dais of Loxmere Castle's throne room.

  “Aagh!” wailed Bethan as she clapped her hands across her mouth and leant beyond the end of the wagon's seat, splatters of her breakfast hitting the floor in spite of her urgent efforts.

  “That's disgusting!” barked Spitemorta. “What kind of nobody vomits from a traveling spell? You are to scrub your hands with lye soap, bathe and change your clothes before you so much as dare to fix my next biscuit. Are you listening to me?”

  Poor Bethan heaved a gagging cough and nodded.

  “Well?”

  Bethan squeezed shut her eyes and bobbed another nod.

  “Revolting!” said Spitemorta, stepping off the far side of the wagon with a bound. “You stay right there while I find someone. And you don't have a lot of time to waste when my celebration is tomorrow.” She saw no one through the archway when she glanced down the runner, so she tried one of the small doors beside the great chair at the runner's other end, which opened onto a flight of stairs leading up to a private solar. There was not a soul in sight up there, either. Back down she went to the dais. She breezed right by without so much as a glance at Bethan who was busy whisking at herself with a handkerchief. Down the runner, she marched by four guards stationed just outside the archway.

  “Hey!” cried one of the guards. “Where did you come from?”

  Spitemorta wheeled about with the Staff leveled, turning him into a popping torch, his lavender smoke roiling up to spread out under the ceiling as his glowing cinders collapsed in a tinkling cascade to the floor. The guard next to him dropped his pike in wide-eyed shock.

  “Leave it!” barked Spitemorta as he reached for it. “It'll get in your way when you run. Find the steward. Tell him to meet me in his private solar for tea, up the stairs behind the throne.”

  “Who may I...? Who are you?”

  “Your queen, idiot. Now go!”

  “And you. Hatchet Face. See the fat woman on the wagon? No, you dolt! Not out here. There's a wagon behind you in the throne room. Take the fat woman sitting on it to the kitchen and let them know that from this moment on, she's head cook. Tell whomever's been head cook to get her started in the kitchen and introduce her to the other cooks. She'll also show her to quarters suitable for her station. If none suitable are vacant, then she'll move out of hers and allow the fat woman to move in. When you get done with that, fetch a dustpan and sweep up these cinders. Any questions?”

  “No your Majesty.”

  “Well there she sits. Go help her down. Move!”

  She turned to the last guard. “Go guard the wagon in the throne room. Those stone balls in it are called skinweleriou. If anyone comes and dares to touch one, kill him. Understand?”

  “Y
es Your Majesty,” said the guard with a panicky bow as he backed away and ran for the wagon.

  Spitemorta passed by the wagon with her nose in the air as she headed back up the carpet for the stairs to the solar. As she mounted the top steps, the steward rose to meet her.

  “Queen Spitemorta, is it?” he said, holding out his hand. “I'm Pike, Second Steward. I've had tea sent up, but I can't imagine what's taking them...”

  “I should say you were,” she said.

  “Were?”

  “Well I suppose you still are second steward, Pike, but no amount of your having been in charge here gives you leave to dispense with the proper manners of deference owed a sovereign. One just doesn't earn such a thing.”

  “I beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing at once. “I'm afraid that I've spent my years in service here on an informal basis with the crown.”

  “I'm afraid that won't do,” she said as she had a seat. “I am taking up residence and shall reign here for the time being. We will require proper deference at all times. It would be best to remember that for the festival to celebrate my being on Loxmere's throne, which begins tomorrow. Now tell me Pike, I have indeed been preoccupied elsewhere, but just how is it that you've been in charge here all this time and are second, rather than first steward?”

  “Why Lance is first steward,” he said with a look of surprise as he followed her example and sat. “It was your announcement that King James and he had vanished that was the very reason for me being put in charge. And speaking of them, have there been tidings of either one of them?”

  “The word is that they're both traitors...”

  “Traitors?” he said, on his feet again. “Impossible! Their honor is unassailable. I will serve James as long as I live.”

  “Which is precisely why your execution will be part of the festivities tomorrow. Sit down.”

  “You're serious!” he cried, refusing to sit.

  “And you're dead. Now sit. And where is the confounded bell pull?”

  “On the wall behind you,” he said, making no effort to take a chair.