by B A Simmons
Roland sent regular signals from the other side of the bay. The Falcon ship seemed to be in no hurry to get there, making wide tacks into the wind. The sun was well on its way toward the western horizon when the ship finally sailed into the bay. She came up the far side, out of range of any mangle nell shots, before spotting the Entdecker. She then turned around and made as if to escape the bay.
Rob thought it very curious behavior. Surely, they knew this island was hostile to them. His mind began to express doubts as to whether the Falcons aboard this ship even knew they were at war.
Abruptly, the ship turned its stern toward the docks and dropped anchor in the middle of the bay. Rob could see the name of the ship was Stella Marina. A white flag was waved from the quarterdeck, and a signal was sent up asking to talk.
Rob was speechless as the eyes of everyone at the docks looked to him.
It was quite some time before anything happened. Rob looked from the men to the ship. It was close enough to see figures moving about on the quarterdeck. The ship’s dinghy hung there and looked ready to be lowered to the sea, yet they waited. Rob felt as if they were waiting for him. The Engle Isle militia was waiting for him. Jones, with his patronizing admonitions, was waiting for him. Even Anna, standing with her father far back from the docks, looked on him with expectancy.
“Get me a white flag!” Rob called back to Charlie.
Charlie hesitated but a moment before passing the order on to a young militiaman who ran off. He returned a few minutes later with a bedsheet from the inn. It was attached to an oar, and Rob waved it in reply to the Falcon’s signal.
A moment later, they lowered their dinghy and filled it with men; eight in total. Four rowed the boat toward the docks, two sat in the middle, looking uncomfortable. The last two were stationed at each end of the boat, decked head to toe in bronze armor. The one at the stern watched the Entdecker, which kept at a safe but close distance. The one at the bow seemed to stare directly at Rob.
The dinghy came alongside the dock, and Rob noted that the rowers, while less armored than the two statuesque sentries, still wore leather and wood jackets, cinched to their bodies with sword belts. Each bore a short, curved sword across his lower back. They made fast the dinghy while the heavily armored guards mounted the docks. The two men in the center of the boat came out next. Both were dressed in finer clothing than had ever been seen on Engle Isle. Rob allowed himself a momentary speculation as to whether the embroidery on their cuffs was actual gold or merely gold-colored thread.
He turned his attention to their faces as they approached him at the end of the docks. One of them looked to be in a state of mortal fear as he eyed the island’s small but fierce-looking army. The other appeared disgusted at the ordinary stone buildings of Port John. If he took any note of the armed men glaring at him, it would be to notice how mismatched their armor and weapons were. He was, himself, immaculate in his dress and mannerisms, walking straight-backed and holding his nose slightly upturned.
“Sono Signore Nestore Pompeo, l’ambasciatore in quest’isola. Tu chi sei?” he said to Rob without looking at him.
Before Rob could respond, the frightened-looking fellow spoke, in perfect Engle, “This is Sir Nestore Pompeo. Sent by his Imperial Majesty to serve as ambassador to this fair island. To whom does he have the privilege of speaking?”
“I am Rob Engleman. Captain of the Engle Isle militia. We welcome you to our island so long as you are here to negotiate peace.”
The man turned and spoke to his master, what Rob assumed was a translation of his words. Sir Nestore finally looked Rob over and frowned in disapproval. He turned his face toward the three members of the council, Jones, McClain, and Johnson, who stood at the passage through the defense wall. He seemed to perceive they were men of importance. Ignoring Rob, he commanded his guards to escort him forward.
Rob stepped aside and let him pass. The ambassador’s servant introduced him to the three councilmen and translated Jones’s reply and welcome to the island.
“Where shall we negotiate?” the servant asked.
Jones seemed taken aback by the question. McClain’s jaw was clenched so tight, it was a wonder he didn’t break a tooth. After a moment, Lewis Johnson suggested they go to the inn and take refuge from the heat.
Rob subtly waved his hands to signal the militia to relax as Sir Nestore, walking between his guards, followed the councilmen to the FitzHugh’s inn.
Roger joined Rob and they followed the odd entourage.
“The head man there says he’s been appointed as ambassador to Engle Isle, but he doesn’t speak Engle. He’s got a servant to translate for him. I want to know what they say to each other. Get Bernardo and the both of you listen in on this negotiation. I’ll stand back, but you can pace around and report to me what you hear.”
“Right, I see Bernardo over there by the well. We’ll be right in.”
Entering the inn, Rob felt the cooler air and realized just how much he’d been sweating inside his armor. He felt he could at least remove the helmet now that a battle no longer seemed imminent. At the same time, his memories of the slaughter outside John’s Bay kept him from setting the helmet down anywhere. He knew he could not relax. The Falcon guards, still on either side of Pompeo, looked as keen and vigilant as ever.
Anna was already inside the inn. Seeing her father sit at a table with Jones and two Falcon noblemen, she went to Rob.
“What is going on?”
Rob sighed and shook his head, “They ran up a white flag and wanted to talk. This man is the appointed ambassador to Engle Isle, or so he says.”
“No, by Ayday, he’s not the appointed ambassador, because we don’t want an ambassador here. Look at Copper Isle. Falcon ambassadors are really just spies for their emperor.”
“Shhh. Keep your voice down. The Council of Elders voted to seek peace with the empire, so here we are. We have to give them a chance. I’m glad your father’s at the table. If it was just Jones, I fear we’d be raising the Falcon banner over Harrisville this evening.”
“You are the new leader here. Why aren’t you sitting at the table?”
“Clearly, I wasn’t invited, but stop worrying. John’s down at the docks keeping an eye on their ship. Roger and Bernardo are coming in and will listen to what he says. Here they are now.”
Anna noticed how the servant translated everything between his master and the councilmen. Roger, remembering his new position as a councilman, took a seat next to Lewis. Jones scowled for a moment then forced a smile. Bernardo stationed himself between Rob and the table, close enough to listen, but far enough away to appear nonchalant. Mister McClain found it impossible to seat himself so near the Falcons. Rather, he stood by the door as if ready to call for the militia at any moment.
Jones had begun making apologies, which Lewis interrupted, demanding to know the empire’s plan for Engle Isle. Bernardo’s brow furled as he listened to the translator. Rob took a small step closer to the former Falcon slave. His own eyes begging for information.
Bernardo waited until he had heard the ambassador’s reply translated into Engle before approaching Rob.
“Deez man who-ah translate from Iyty, he ah-no translate correct.”
“What do you mean?” Rob and Anna asked.
“He-ah no say what your fater, ah Meester John-sohn, say. He tell de ambassador ah-no problema wid him be-een on de island. Not-ah what your fater say, no?”
They all quieted as Pompeo was again talking.
“De ambassador say dat he will-ah leeve in dis inn. He wan-ah make eet heez house. De sehr-vant say he wan-ah stay hee-ah for juss liddle time.
“Why isn’t he translating correctly? Does he not know the right words?” Rob pondered.
“Wait-ah momento,” Bernardo said. Lewis Johnson was not liking the ambassador’s supposed response to his question. Jones tried to get him to calm down, but it was clear that Lewis thought the ambassador duplicitous.
“Are you saying you have no plan
s for our island?” Johnson asked.
“We will stay for a short time, to make peace with you, and then we will leave,” the translator said.
“We could make peace right now. Let’s draw up a treaty, and you can be on your way by morning.”
“Cosa sta dicendo?” Pompeo said, clearly noticing Johnson’s agitated state.
“Non vuole che restiamo qui così a lungo,” replied his servant.
Roger came to his feet. He addressed Pompeo directly in Iyty, revealing his servant’s dishonesty and rejecting his request to stay on the island as ambassador.
All of this was translated by Bernardo to Rob and Anna. Jones was befuddled and shouted for someone to explain what was going on. Rob’s hand went to his face as he realized that the negotiations had failed. There would be no peace. He now had to ensure this man and his crew get away without being harmed.
Pompeo stuck a finger in his servant’s face, shouting threats at him. He screamed at the guards to escort him back to the dinghy. While obviously upset, no one supposed that Pompeo was sad about having to leave Engle Isle. He openly insulted them, the island, and their standard of living in such a way that translation was not needed. He stormed from the inn toward the docks.
After Roger explained to Mister Jones what had happened, Jones chased after Pompeo, pleading for him to reconsider, while Lewis Johnson followed Jones, trying to convince him to give up. However, while the Falcon nobleman clearly thought little of them all, he failed to notice Anna and McClain signaling the militia and mercenaries to close in on him. His guards, however, did not. No sooner had Charlie moved in than they drew their swords. The lead guard took up an en garde and the rear guard seized an even better opportunity. He took hold of Raymond Jones and placed the edge of his sword against his throat.
Even Pompeo seemed surprised by the turn of events. However, as he had taken note of the hostile intentions that surrounded him, he did not order his guard to release Jones. Then Lewis Johnson made what was perhaps the biggest mistake of his life—he stepped toward the ambassador to negotiate the release of his colleague. Pompeo did not even attempt a translation. Instead, he drew out a knife and took Lewis hostage.
“Stand down! All of you! Stand down!” Rob shouted. “Bernardo, tell them to release our people. We will allow them to leave in peace, but if they—”
“Let them leave in peace?” someone shouted. “We’ll do nothing like it!”
“Stop it!” Rob yelled. “I’m ordering all of you to lower your weapons!”
An arrow was loosed. It struck the lead guard in the back but bounced harmlessly off his armor. Rob had lost. There was no controlling his men. Even as he continued to shout at them, he knew they wouldn’t obey.
“Andiamo!” Pompeo shouted, and the Falcon guards moved again toward the docks. Two mercenaries rushed forward to stop them, but one was quickly cut down by the lead guard and the other received a gash to the head. Another arrow pinged off the helmet of the rear guard, who moved backward while holding a petrified Mister Jones.
Despite the islanders’ vehemence, the Falcon guards seemed invincible and were able to make their way through the swords, spear points, and infuriated shouts to the docks, where they were supported by the four rowers.
Another arrow, this one fired by Anna, flew between the guards. Clearly, she’d intended it for Pompeo, but it struck the arm of his servant who had been cowering behind his master. In response, Pompeo pressed his blade against Lewis Johnson’s neck, drawing blood.
“Permettici di partire o lo ucciderò!” he shouted.
Roger translated, “If we don’t let them go, they’ll kill Johnson and Jones.”
Pompeo didn’t wait for an answer, he boarded the dinghy, followed by his wounded servant and guards. They pushed off from the dock and drove the small boat through the water to their ship.
“We have to stop them!” Anna shouted.
“We will, but we have to be smart about it,” Rob said.
“Don’t you dare say that! You let them take him. You let him die!”
Tears streamed from her eyes, but she saw well enough to strike Rob’s face with the palm of her hand. Karen, the medic from Fallen Dome, came forward and took hold of Anna, who did little to prevent herself from being dragged back to the inn
“Roger, target that ship with your mangle nell. I don’t want it leaving this bay!” Rob shouted.
“Ay, sir! Let’s go men, arm Nelly! Load her up!”
Rob turned to Charlie, “Signal Tom. Tell him to get between that ship and the open sea. Get a skiff ready! We need to intercept that dinghy.”
Roger placed himself behind his mangle nell. “Bring the front up three inches!” The crew adjusted the aim, and Roger again judged the trajectory. “Shift to port . . . more . . . a little more.”
“Sir, they’re making sail!”
Indeed, even before the dinghy had reached them, the Stella Marina was beginning to catch the wind.
“That’s why they turned her stern toward us! They wanted to be able to make a quick getaway.”
Roger knew he was out of time, but they had thrown ropes out to haul in the dinghy. If he fired at that moment, he risked hitting the dinghy and possibly killing Jones and Johnson. Yet if he didn’t fire, the ship would be out of range by the time the dinghy was clear.
“Fire!” he shouted, and prayed to Ayday he had it right.
A stone the size of a man’s head sailed through the air over the bay. It seemed to float for a moment above the dinghy, as if deciding whether to drop on them or move on. Move on it did and fell at the Stella Marina’s stern. It missed the quarterdeck and rear bulwarks, splashing down right where the rudder blade sat in the water.
The militiamen did not cheer.
They saw their shot miss the target, which had now moved beyond their effective range. It hauled in the dinghy and was speeding away.
What they did not realize—what the Falcon’s themselves didn’t initially realize—was that Roger’s shot had struck true. In the water behind the desperate vessel, their rudder blade floated idly on the waves.
Sudden spouts of fire erupted from the Stella Marina’s deck. Roger and John were the only ones to recognize the incendiary rockets for what they were.
“Down! Get down!” they both shouted. “Get behind the wall!”
Bolts of fire arched over the bay and fell onto Port John. Most of them fell harmlessly onto the dirt roads, but three of them landed on the Guilderoys’ home and store. The thatched roof ignited, and the flames spread before anyone had fully grasped the situation.
Adam Guilderoy pulled his daughter from the burning building and then returned for his wife. Desperate moments passed before Adam returned, coughing and sputtering. He collapsed on his face. Others attempted to enter the house but were forced back by the raging flames.
As Adam bawled out the name of his wife, watching his home and business burn to the ground, Charlie and Rob rowed out into the bay.
Tom saw the rockets fly out from the Stella Marina and ordered Piers and the others on board to open fire with their bows. The arrows stuck into the hull, but none found a softer target. In response, the crew of the Stella Marina opened fire on the Entdecker with their swivel gun and hand cannons. Two of the mercenaries on board were wounded, and Tom steered away. They were obviously outgunned. At that moment, Tom wished Mark hadn’t given Pete their three-pounder. Yet, he knew that Pete was likely putting it to better use.
It was Tom who first noted the odd sailing angle of the Falcon ship as she sped away toward the bay opening. She was not headed straight out, as any good steersman would take her, but rather she was slanting toward the east. He guessed correctly that the shot from the mangle nell must have damaged her after all.
The Falcon captain was a clever sailor. He ordered his crew to turn the sails, then he lowered their anchor over the starboard side just enough to act as a makeshift steering oar. It was sloppy and slowed them down, but it kept the ship from running agroun
d on the island it was trying to escape.
Just then, Tom heard Rob’s voice shouting to him.
“Hold up, I’m coming aboard!”
The skiff came alongside, and Rob clambered up. The two wounded men were transferred to the skiff with another to help Charlie row back to the docks.
“What’s the plan?” Piers asked.
“We’re going after that ship. We have to rescue our people.”
“That’s going to be a hard job.”
Tom answered, “There’s nothing but hard jobs these days.”
“You saw their steering was damaged,” Rob said. “They’ll be slow, and they have to fight the wind to keep from heading too far south. We can catch up to them after nightfall and sneak aboard to get Jones and Johnson.”
“You’re meecher!” said one of the mercenaries.
“You don’t like the plan? You can swim to shore.”
“Why won’t they just keep heading south ’til they fix their rudder?” another man asked.
“A day’s sailing south will bring them to the Sea of Grass,” Tom said. “It’s full of Quillian, sea serpents, and Ayday knows what else. They don’t want to go there.”
“It sounds like we don’t want to go there either,” Piers said.
Rob looked sternly at his crew, “We’ll do what we must to save our people. Tom, set sail.”
5: The Kingdom of Goats and Lizards
Edwin, with Ches to guide him, found his way to the highest point of Fishhook Isle to get a better view of his domain. From this vantage point, he surveyed the rocky isle, noting the patches of green, marshy forest and the encircling sandy beaches, all of which was surrounded by a narrow reef. The reef extended westward for three miles or so but closely cropped the island’s eastern shore.
They ventured over the sharp rocks and deep crags; however, it was not for the view. Edwin ordered the Fishhook Islanders—his people—to recover the lost goats, an endeavor that had occupied them for the better part of four days. While accounts differed as to how many were yet alive, Edwin had been able to find the skulls of six does. Ches admitted they were what was left over from the islanders’ feast of goat flesh. By Edwin’s count, that left the potential of a dozen more, including the two billies. Edwin sent people all over the island to assist in the rescue. A few remained in their ramshackle village to construct a corral.