by B A Simmons
***
Joshua led Harland and Jack behind the Falcon guards as they walked up the street toward the well. The slaves, pushing and pulling their water barrels up the hill, grunted and dripped with sweat in the tropical humidity.
Joshua sweat also, not so much from the air, but from the tension. There were two annoyances about this part of the mission. One was the tight collar and sleeves of his tunic. Whatever lieutenant in the Falcon Navy had worn the uniform, he was not as broad and muscular as Joshua. The second was having to watch the enslaved men trudge and toil without being able to help them.
His own experiences as a galley slave brought him nightmares and made for difficult conversations. Looking at these men, he could only imagine the hellish life they endured on Kymberlite. Still, he held his tongue when the Falcon guards prodded them with their spears and insulted their mothers. He did not react when, as they came to the well, one of the slaves set his wheelbarrow down too quickly and a barrel slid off onto the stony ground.
One of the guards chided him in Iyty and struck him with his shield. The guards were kids, not more than sixteen years old. Joshua knew he could take them both apart in seconds, if he wanted to—or if he lacked the discipline instilled in him through Edward’s training.
Yet, when one of the slaves reached out to help the other up from the dirt, Joshua noticed the tattoo on his forearm. A red serpent, just like his. He felt his heart pounding in his chest and wondered if it had been doing that the entire time or if it just started. He unfastened the top button of the tunic and moved toward the well.
Fed by a spring, the water pooled near the top of the opening, allowing for easy access. The slaves brought their loads to a halt at the edge of this pool and stood back.
Joshua turned to the guards. “Why aren’t they filling the barrels?” he asked in Iyty.
The guards looked at each other and grinned in knowing something Joshua did not.
“If your house servant looked like them, would you want him to bring you a drink?” one of them responded.
“Why not?” Joshua growled, not appreciating the inside joke at his expense.
The guard spoke to his companion as if Joshua wasn’t there. “Obviously, he’s had to work his way up the ranks.”
“I bet his family couldn’t even afford him, let alone servants.”
They laughed, and Joshua felt the urge to knock their heads together. Instead, he ordered the guards to help Harland and Jack in filling the barrels. Rolling up his sleeves, he took up a pitcher and began doing the same, even as the guards grumbled beneath their breath.
Sometime later, he stopped to wipe his brow and noticed the slave with the tattoo was looking at him. The intensity of the stare was not that of idle watching. Joshua laid the pitcher down and approached the man.
“Cosa stai guardando?” he said, loud enough for guards to hear if they had a mind to. Joshua followed the man’s eyes to his own forearm. A feeling of panic struck him as he realized that his tattoo was visible. The slave had noticed it; had the guards also? Would they if he didn’t cover it again with the ill-fitted sleeve?
Joshua checked to see that the guards were busy filling a barrel before leaning in toward the slave.
Raising his arm to make the tattoo more visible, he said, “The serpent always strikes fast.”
The slave’s eyes went wide and a grin appeared on his face. He lifted his own arm and replied, “The serpent always strikes hard.”
“I’m going to hit you now, take the blow and be submissive. If you don’t, we may all die today.”
Joshua lifted his hand higher and brought the back of it down on the slave’s face. He pulled the blow at the last second, but it still made a loud slap. To his credit, the man was a fine actor, reeling back and letting out a cry of pain.
As expected, this drew attention to their conversation.
“Hai il coraggio di guardarmi!” Joshua shouted. He took hold of the slave’s throat and brought his face close by his own. He then whispered in Engle. “Do not fear, brother. I will come back for you. I’ll be back for you all. Stay alive, stay strong! Long live the Brotherhood.”
Joshua threw him to the ground, spat and walked back to the well. Allowing the anger he felt for the Falcons to show a little, he ordered the guards to bring the slaves over and make them fill the barrels. He ordered Harland and Jack to step back with him and watch.
The slave knew better than to share what he’d just discovered about Joshua to anyone else there, given that the Falcon guards had resumed their vigilance over them. Yet there was no doubt in Joshua’s mind, they would be talking about him in their huts that night.
With a dozen men replacing five, the barrels were filled in little extra time. Joshua sneered at the two young guards as they herded the slaves back toward the docks. He knew he could do nothing now, but promised himself once the fight over Alimia was done, he would come back to Kymberlite to free these men.
At the docks, Joshua directed the crew in hauling the filled barrels aboard while he reported to Pete. Just as he was about to confess his reckless actions, Sottufficiale Vitale returned and behind him, a train of slaves carting barrels emerged from a warehouse.
Pete and Joshua both returned to the dock to speak with the fat dock officer.
“Your purchase has been approved,” Vitale said in Iyty. “Please inform Ambassador Aquila, on behalf of the Commandant of Kymberlite, that we wish this mission all success.”
“Molto bene,” Pete said. “I will direct my crew to begin loading the powder. Tenente . . .”
Joshua moved to issue orders when he heard Vitale speak again.
“You may need some help, after all. Eleven tons of powder is quite the load. Be sure to keep all flames out of your hold. Not even a candle.”
Pete wasn’t sure he’d correctly heard Vitale. However, when he saw the expression on Joshua’s face, he knew he had. Eleven tons! They had expected only half that amount. Pete forced his smile away from his mouth and looked at Vitale with stern consternation.
“Sì sì, of course. You should help us load it. Time is important here!”
The loading took hours. Both of the Falcon ships at Port Arsenale previous to their arrival left before they were yet halfway through. A bright moon assisted them in keeping lanterns and torches farther away as they loaded into the night. When it was finished, the crew felt as exhausted as the slaves. Pete had no choice but to remain at port until dawn, giving them a few hours rest before setting sail.
However, just as the dawn’s light peeked over the waves to the east, a new Falcon ship arrived at the harbor. It was unlike any they had seen before. At least one hundred feet in length, it sported three masts, each with two square sails. It was tall enough to have three decks, plus a flying deck stretching between the forecastle and quarterdeck. Through the far-see, Pete spied two forward-mounted cannons and two more on the starboard side. He guessed that meant at least two others faced port. She had four swivel guns in total, two mounted on the forecastle and two at the quarterdeck.
The enormous ship came into the harbor as a gentle kid entering a green pasture. There, she dropped anchor and stayed, looking as menacing as a beach dragon overlooking a lagoon.
Despite the feeling of panic at the sight of this ship, Pete and his crew knew they needed to act as though they were happy to see her. Pete ordered the Artiglio d’Aquila to make sail and head for open water.
“She’s just too big to come up to the docks. That’s all. As far as they know, we’re just a supply ship leaving. Don’t give them any reason to think otherwise.”
He envisioned taking this monster ship on in battle. In any situation, he could not see such an event going well for him. As they passed by her, Joshua ordered the crew to salute, figuring that whatever officer commanded such a ship, he outranked them all.
Once Kymberlite Isle was nothing more than a line on the southern horizon, Pete looked out over his crew and let out a wild cheer. They responded in kind and l
aughed among themselves all that night.
21: The Good Doctor
Doctor Morris made gentle prods at the scabbed-over wound on Jacob’s shin. It was certain that he did not intend to cause Jacob any undue pain; however, the tough mercenary winced a few times in the examination. Since boarding the Entdecker, the wound had caused Jacob a fair amount of misery each day. Now, as they approached Copper Isle, Jacob found the pain lessened to a considerable degree.
“Well, the good news is that there’s no longer any pus coming from the wound. My recommendation is that you continue to exercise it by walking the deck a few times each morning and evening. Do not try anything drastic like jumping overboard.”
Jacob smiled. “Even if it’s to escape one of your lectures?”
“Especially then.”
“I didn’t realize you were also a medic, doctor,” Piers said.
“I’ve spent enough of my life in study to have learned a bit of everything. I can even cook a few decent meals. Did you know, however, that our ancient ancestors referred to medics as doctors? Hmm? It’s true.”
“Wonderful, now you’ve started him on another one, Piers,” Jacob said.
“Well, if you aren’t interested, I don’t have to tell you about it.”
“No, no,” Jacob protested. “I’m interested, just not so interested in that subject. Do you know anything more exciting, maybe?”
“Exciting? Well, given your proclivities, Jacob, I think perhaps I do have something better suited to you.”
“Yes, my proclivities are in need of excitement.”
“Then let me tell you of Richard Kor.”
“Of the Kor Empire?” Rob asked.
“Yes, the very same. You all know the Kor Empire as the greatest human civilization of this world. For nearly three decades, it controlled most of the islands inhabited by man, and several with Duarve on them. The Duarve had, for the most part, come to terms with humans. In some places, they even lived together in harmony and, in the least, they tolerated each other.
“Yet, Kor saw no reason in making peace with the Duarve. On Table Isle, he pretended to befriend them, promising them protection from other hostile humans. No sooner had they let his armies come onto that island than he betrayed them, slaughtering every Duarve that could not escape to the sea. This same tactic was repeated on Isle de Bec.”
“Didn’t the Duarve fight back? They aren’t that weak, are they?” Jacob said.
Morris nodded. “They did, on other islands. They have ways of communicating that are unknown to us. Those that survived the massacres relayed their message across the islands. From then on, Kor was opposed by every Duarve-held island. Not that they could do much to stop him.”
“Alimia Castle,” Rob said. “Alimia was a Duarve isle before Kor’s armies came. They destroyed the castle and took over the island.”
“One of their final conquests, before Richard Kor died and his empire fell apart,” Morris added.
“They destroyed that castle but never found the caves below it,” Jacob said. He seemed ready to retell his version of the battle they fought there the previous year. However, he knew that his current audience had heard it before, Rob having been part of it.
“Caves?” Piers said.
Rob’s brow furrowed for a moment, as the caves beneath Alimia Castle were supposed to be a secret kept from everyone who didn’t already know about them. Rob forced himself to relax about Jacob’s loose lips. Piers had proven himself a loyal member of the consortium and, after all, they were about to reveal to him the secret of Hellhound Isle. If they couldn’t trust Piers, who could they trust?
“What was in the caves?” Piers asked.
“Water,” Jacob answered. “Though Charlie did get the best prize—that steel Duarve sword. By Ayday, those creatures can forge. Hundreds of years old, and it’s still as sharp as ever. Not even a touch of canker on it.”
Rob continued the answer. “We discovered a cistern beneath the castle. More water than anyone thought could exist on that parched island. Forget the Duarve’s ability to forge. They could build. The cistern drew water vapor up from the sea as well as drainage from rain. After this last rainy season, I bet it’s overflowing.”
“Interesting. I hadn’t heard about the cistern in the battle stories.”
Rob glared at Jacob for a moment. “When the Falcons forced us to retreat, we hid in the caves. They discovered the well that draws from the cistern but not the caves themselves. As far as we know, they still haven’t discovered them. We’d like to keep it that way, wouldn’t we Jacob, as they might prove useful in taking the island from them.”
“Hey, we’re all on the same side here! I figured Piers likely knew about them already.”
“Loose lips sink ships,” Morris said.
Jacob said nothing more on the matter. Yet, Rob wondered how much curiosity he had sparked in Piers’s mind. It cast a shadow of doubt on Rob’s decision to visit Hellhound Isle with Jacob. Who else would learn of their secrets through him?
They arrived at Port Edward in the evening. The harbor seemed aware of them the moment they docked. Rob, therefore, commanded that none of them leave the ship save himself. He would limit his excursion to two quick visits, and they would be off again. With the number of eyes watching them, he knew the odds of their safety greatly diminished. Likely, someone had already gone to tell Marcel that the ship he’d declared sunk, not only still floated, but had arrived at his doorstep.
Sword and dagger tucked in his belt, he ventured out and walked at top speed to the Silver Swan. He was greeted amicably by the Hamptons and offered a place to sleep for the night.
“I’m sorry, I can’t accept your hospitality. I fear our stay here must be less than an hour. Do you have anything else for me? A message perhaps?” he said.
“Yes, it’s been more than a fortnight, but this was left for you,” Mister Hampton said, handing Rob a letter. It was unsigned, but Rob knew it to be from Edwin.
Rob offered his thanks and purchased two bottles of wine from the inn before bidding them farewell. With the letter in his tunic, Rob jaunted through Port Edward’s few backstreets to the antiques shop owned by Paul and Pamela.
It was late, the sun having left the sky in darkness and the moon not yet having risen to its apex above them. No light could be seen inside the shop, nor in the apartment above it. Still, Rob knocked to gain the attention of his friends. No one answered, and he began to feel exposed on the street. Where could they be?
He knocked a second time and waited, but no one came to the door. With Edwin’s letter burning a hole in his pocket, he turned away from the shop and made his way back toward the docks. He made it a full block before turning a corner and finding two men approaching him. They walked deliberately in the middle of the narrow street to block his path. Rob’s ears picked up the sound of footsteps behind him, though he felt it unwise to glance back at who or how many blocked his escape route, lest the two in front make their move.
Rob’s hands found the hilts of his sword and dagger. He held them there, waiting for the men to either speak or move against him. They stepped closer, slowly, but enough to show they meant to lay their hands, or weapons, on him. Rob pivoted to place his back toward the wall of a house. He could see now that only a single man had approached from behind, but he still didn’t like the odds of three against one. Furthermore, he could now make out the shapes of a wooden club in each man’s hands.
So, they mean either to beat me unconscious and take me alive or to bludgeon me to death. Stay calm and remember your training.
Rob positioned his feet in a fighting stance and drew his weapons. This seemed to put some hesitation in the minds of his opponents, for they hadn’t yet positioned themselves for a fight, only to threaten one.
Perhaps they’re amateurs. No, Marcel wouldn’t waste money on such men. He’d ensure they could do the job. Or has he underestimated me that much?
At last, one of them ran at Rob, lifting his club to swing.
Rob went on the offensive right away, catching the man off guard with an upward slash with his sword. The blade bit into flesh, and the club fell to the cobblestones. As his attacker yelped in pain, Rob followed his sword with a dagger thrust. It was a move he’d practiced numerous times with wooden weapons, but this was different. The sensation and sound of the dagger plunging into the man’s belly surprised him. Rob almost let go in horror.
Yet, even as their companion fell to the ground in agony, the other two moved in on Rob. He parried one club with the sword, but the other clipped his ear and glanced off his left shoulder. Rob pivoted again, placing his sword between himself and the nearest opponent. This man batted at the sword in an effort to deflect it. At the same time, the other took a swing at Rob’s head.
But these men were not Jacob. Their skills lacked his potent subtlety. Rob dodged the blow and countered with a lunging step and quick slash across his knee. Feeling his sword bite into the joint, Rob stayed close to this man, striking again with the sword and following that with another dagger thrust. The man fell and started rolling on the pavement, screaming and gripping his face where Rob’s dagger met his eye.
A sudden sharp pain caused stars to flash in Rob’s eyes. He knew he’d been hit from behind and moved forward to distance himself from the club before a new blow could be struck. His vision still fuzzy, Rob forced himself to focus in the darkness. With his sword and dagger in a defensive stance, he waited for the blurry silhouette to become clear.
The club impacted his left hand, breaking two of his fingers and knocking the dagger from his grip. Rob lashed out with the sword in a desperate attempt to keep the man at bay. His eyes refused to work, seeing only dark shapes against darker backgrounds. He felt the club bat again at the blade. It was enough for Rob to determine a location.
Without a clear view of the man, Rob determined he was desperate enough to tuck and roll across the hard-stone street. Once his feet connected with the ground again, Rob stabbed upward and felt the sickening sensation once again.