by B A Simmons
“Actually, according to Patrizia, the city gets its name from the profitable pearl industry,” Edwin said.
The crew looked at him with disgust, though whether because he missed Duncan’s point or because he mentioned Patrizia again, was undecided.
Yet, Edwin had spoken true. Dozens of small boats bobbed in and outside the harbor with divers dropping into or emerging from the blue-tinted water. They passed close enough to some of these to see the glimmering rainbows of nacre in myriad shapes.
The wharf provided a plethora of berths of which they took one closer to the gates. Once the ship docked, Edwin took James with him into the city to find Fabiano Aquila, the mayor of the city and cousin to Ambassador Marcel. They learned from the city office that he had taken up residence in Marcel’s mansion just outside the city. Local cartmen provided their services as taxis out to the mansion where Edwin presented the letter of introduction from Marcel.
After waiting in the hot sun for an hour while the servants brought a reply from the mayor, they were admitted into the house. It was the essence of luxury. They saw more fine pieces of art and antiques in the entryway than in all of the palaces on Isle de James. The wealth the Falcon aristocracy had here was one of its finest displays.
“Don’t touch anything,” Edwin warned James as a servant led them to a large room with extravagant sofas. “We’d have to indenture ourselves for a year or two to work off just one of the vases.”
“I bet the punishments would be harsher for aliens like us.”
“I hate that word. Aliens, hmmph. Do they consider us to be like the Quillian?”
A large man entered the room. He was not as obese as Marcel but certainly seemed to share his fondness for food. Without addressing the two strangers in his house, he plopped himself down on one of the sofas and waited for a servant to bring him a drink. The servant then brought one to both Edwin and James.
Sipping the wine, Edwin looked to James, then back at the man he could only assume was Fabiano. After a second sip, Edwin cleared his throat and spoke.
“We’ve come to introduce you to an elixir that will change your life, sir.”
Fabiano watched Edwin but made no reply.
Taking a sample vial from his tunic, Edwin continued. “Edwin’s Golden Elixir, the sleep aid beyond anything you’ve dreamed of—literally. One dose, in a cup of wine or spirits, will send you into the most restful sleep of your life. When you wake the next day, you’ll be more rested than any previous morning.”
Still nothing from Fabiano. Edwin began to wonder if he understood Engle.
“Results are guaranteed to please, as your cousin Marcel has attested in the letter.”
A long and awkward pause followed. Again, Edwin looked at James whose face appeared as confused as his own. He almost spoke again with the intent to apologize and ask if the man he’d been speaking to actually was Fabiano but heard him begin to talk.
“I am grateful to you, Signore Johnson, for your presentation. My cousin Marcel told me to expect you, though that was months ago. I thought perhaps you did not make it. I am glad you did.”
Edwin smiled, turning on the charm. “So are we. It is a treacherous journey here from Isle de James, but with the help of the Falcon Navy, we made it safe.”
“How many doses of your golden elixir do you have to sell me?”
“We brought you three hundred doses.”
Fabiano frowned. “That is all? I expected more.”
“That is all we have left of our initial inventory. We’ll be setting sail for home to—”
“All that is left? You had more?”
“We had to register at Deep—erm, Porto Profundo and figured we should sell in that market, too.”
Fabiano’s frown lightened some as he arose. He walked to an east-facing window, where the smell of sea air breezed into the house.
“I am . . . disappointed, Signore Johnson. I thought you understood my cousin’s reference to me.”
Edwin wanted to tell him his cousin had become a paranoid lunatic, but refrained. He felt his charm failing him.
Fabiano continued, “I am the mayor of Città delle Perle. I provide pearls to the empire. I have a . . . net, I think this is the correct word . . . a net across the islands to sell them. I can do the same for your elixir. My cousin Marcel knows when he finds a good product. He says your elixir is such a product. Do you see what I am saying?”
“Yes, I think so. You want to be the sole distributor in the Falcon Empire.”
“I will be the sole distributor, Signore Johnson, capire?”
“I have already made a contract with a distributor at Porto Profundo. It would be bad business for me to renegotiate our deal now. I am willing to contract with you for the Three Sisters distribution, but beyond that . . . I’m sorry.”
Fabiano made a gesture with his hands and the servant left. A moment later, he returned with six others. These men were bulky, wore leather armor and were armed with falcatas, the standard-issue sword for the light infantry. However, they did not wear Falcon uniforms.
The frown deepened again. “These men will escort you back to your vessel. You will deliver to them all that is left of your cargo. You will then return to Città delle Perle within eight weeks with more, at least two thousand doses more. When you deliver that to me, I will return your friend here.”
He pointed a pudgy finger at James, whose eyes went wide. Fabiano’s men moved in. Two of them separated James from Edwin, forcing him to sit on a springy sofa. The others closed in on Edwin, making clear with their body language that he was not to protest.
They marched Edwin out of the house with a knife pointed at his back. He made little effort to resist, but his thoughts whirled around in his brain. How could he manage this situation? He had little to no recourse, as he saw it. Would they actually do harm to James if he refused? Could he fight them and rescue his crewmate? Having barely survived a fight with Louie, he doubted that possibility.
When they arrived at the Anna Louisa, Edwin reluctantly commanded his crew to allow the men to search the ship. Porters arrived and began carting off all the remaining elixir, including samples, and all the yet unsold wine was unloaded onto the dock.
Duncan shouted at a man as he rifled through his personal belongings. The thug answered his protest with the back of his hand. The action motivated one of the thugs to draw his sword, bringing it to Edwin’s throat. Another, who had discovered their weapons locker, used one of their own harpoons to threaten Eugene.
“Wait, don’t! What do you want!?” Edwin screamed.
23: Errand Boys
The howls of some forlorn creature stirred Rob from his dozing. Night had arrived over the Disappointment Isles but not the moon—at least not inside the narrow inlet where the Entdecker hid.
Rob stood, though a little too quickly. His right leg was asleep and nearly put him back on the deck. Leaning on the railing, he looked for his companions. Piers stood at the bow, far-see in hand, looking out into the darkness. Tom, as usual, stood on the quarterdeck, his hands on the steering oar. Rob let a smile curl his lips as he thought how the indentations on the oar must fit Tom’s hands and fingers to exactness.
“Are we ready to try?” Rob asked his cousin.
“We were just waiting for you to wake up,” Tom said. His placid tone, another trademark of the man, gave no hint of the anxiety Tom must have been feeling. Mark was known for his stoicism; Rob realized that, in truth, Tom was the true stoic.
“Piers, Rob and I will row. You navigate us back out to sea and stand ready with that bow.”
“Ay, Cap’n,” Piers said, and he placed an arrow on the string.
They started slow, being careful not to make noise with their oars. However, they quickly gained momentum and only needed to use the oars in maintaining speed and adjusting course. Piers proved himself an excellent navigator. Before long, Rob and Tom could feel the resistance of bigger waves against the hull.
They rounded the point where
they’d lost the pirate ship earlier. Piers did not report seeing another ship nearby, but let them know they’d cleared the inlet. Rob could see the pale green glow of the moon sitting just under the lee of the island. He and Tom kept rowing for a few more minutes, digging deep into the waves until the wind picked up.
The moment the proud hellhound painted on the sail billowed outward, a whizz sounded in their ears followed by a sudden hole in the hellhound’s neck. More arrows thudded into the hull and mast.
“There they are!” Piers shouted, launching an arrow over the stern to port. Tom scrambled to the steering oar to control the ship, which was now propelled by the wind. Rob tossed the oars onto the deck and took hold of the sheets.
“Let’s take her hard to port!” Tom said.
Piers continued to fire arrows back at their pursuers. Rob wondered how well he could aim in the dark, for he could not see the ship against which they defended themselves. Tom steered her to starboard again, in a direction more favorable with the wind.
The tactic worked . . . a little. The pirates lagged behind them and out of arrowshot. Piers turned his attention to helping Rob make the most of their holey sail. Tom continued to vary their course, though without such drastic turns. With the moonlight now over the island, Rob took a moment to lean over the side and peer aft. He could barely make it out, but the lateen sails of the fast raider were distinct perhaps four hundred yards behind them. It seemed as though they were not to be shaken or deterred.
“Light the lantern, Rob,” Tom said.
“What?” Rob said in return. Surely, he’d misheard the order.
“Get the lantern, light it, and take it to the top of the mast.”
Piers interjected, “Don’t you think that’s a bit . . . unwise?”
“We need fewer things coming after us, Tom, not more,” Rob said.
Stalwart in his resolve, Tom repeated: “Get the lantern up the mast. Trust me.”
Rob found the ship’s lantern and brought it to the firebox. Unearthing a coal from the sand, he blew life into it and used it to start the lantern. Latching it to his belt, he climbed the mast to find the drive hook attached there. The lantern was difficult to detach from his belt using just one hand, yet he managed to get it onto the hook just as another arrow flew by. Though it had not come close to hitting him, he felt exposed up there and scrambled down to the relative safety of the deck.
“Are we trying to attract something dangerous?” he said, joining Tom on the quarterdeck.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, we are.”
“So, you’ve gone meecher and picked this moment to show us.”
“You’ve forgotten the sea serpent that nearly ate Max in the Sea of Grass.”
“Oh, which one was that again? There were several, as I recall.”
Rob intended his sarcasm to chide Tom, but the Pete-like smile on his face widened with each comment Rob made.
“The one Piers saved him from. It came for us but ended up helping us escape the Quillian.”
“Huh,” Rob said, as the logic of Tom’s idea came to him. “You do remember that Piers shot that with our last hand cannon charge?”
“As long as it’s not one of those car-dun things Morris was talking about, I feel reasonable about our chances of dealing with it.”
“Right. Just so long as it scares them away,” Rob said.
Another arrow plunked into the aft railing. The pirates were gaining on them again. Tom did not tell Rob or Piers that he’d intentionally allowed them to get closer, hoping that whatever monster came up from the depths to catch them would also go after the pirates.
However, the monster that spotted them was not from below the surface. Rather, it was a larger galleon. It belched fire from a small mouth on its side and sent a stone ball at the pirate ship. The first one missed, but the distinct splash from the ball hitting the water caught both crews off guard. The second shot blasted through the fast raider’s hull, just above the waterline.
The pirate ship turned, but not fast enough. The galleon tracked them and sent a third ball through their hull aft. The shot destroyed their steering and flooded their hold. Men went into the water, screaming and hollering for help as the raider went down below them. The galleon ignored their cries and instead came for the Entdecker.
Tom was pleased that his plan had worked.
“Hoy!” he shouted. “We’re the Entdecker out of Engle Isle. Thank you for coming to our rescue.”
After a minute, a loud voice came from the dark ship. “Glad to help, now douse that light before something worse than pirates comes.”
Piers ascended the mast and blew out the light before returning with the lantern. As he did so, the galleon sidled up to the smaller ship. Hooked lines joined the vessels together, and a rope ladder brought men down from the tall deck of the warship.
In the light of the full moon, Rob saw a face that looked familiar to him, though he could not place from where he knew it. The man stood at average height, clean-shaven, and looking to be in his early thirties. He looked stern as he spoke.
“What ship did you say this is?”
“The Entdecker,” Rob said. “We’re part of the Hellhound Consortium fighting the—”
“The Falcon Empire, around Alimia. But, I thought the Entdecker was sunk there last year in a battle.”
Tom’s smile grew even wider. “A Falcon deception. We did the sinking—one of their war galleys.”
The man returned Tom’s smile. “Well, that’s good news. I’m Captain Thompson of the Aruth navy.”
“Of course!” Rob said. Everyone looked at him as though the moonbeams had sent him into lunacy. “You were at Baron Eric’s court that day.”
Thompson strained his eyes at Rob, then the light of recognition showed in them.
“You’re the representative from Engle. I’m sorry I don’t remember your name,” he said.
“Rob Engleman. Yes, I petitioned your baron for support in the war. In fact, we’re on our way to your island to follow up on that.”
“Excellent. We can escort you there,” Thompson said. “You know, it’s good you set up that distress beacon. With only three of you on board, those pirates would have made mincemeat of you.”
Tom beamed again.
Thompson turned to one of the men with him. “Mister Anderson, you and two more men will remain aboard the Entdecker to assist our allies in sailing. Follow us home.”
“Ay, sir,” Anderson said.
Rob introduced Anderson to Tom and Piers as Thompson returned to his ship, the King David, and released her hold on the Entdecker.
The last cries of the doomed pirates faded into the distance as the two ships sailed on. When daylight came, Rob found himself admiring the David with her dark wood, double masts, and gun ports on both sides. Moreover, he admired the discipline of her crew. Anderson and the others attached to the Entdecker behaved in excellent military fashion. They recognized Tom as captain and followed his orders without balking.
Eight days of sailing brought them to the east coast of Aruth, where Tom gawked at the enormity of the island and its mountains, just as Rob had a few months prior. Rather than sailing around to the northern coast and Port Aruth, the David made for the port town of Annar on the island’s eastern shore. While not as large as Port Aruth, Annar was the site of the baronial shipyards. Wood-hauling freighters from Aura Isle came in and out of the harbor on a regular basis. As a compliment to the consortium, Captain Thompson ordered the baronial carpenters to repair the Entdecker’s travel and battle damage.
Before leaving the Entdecker, Rob asked Thompson to post some of his men as guards over the ship and its cargo. The captain, having seen the cargo, obliged and placed Anderson over the detail. Rob took with him a list of what he intended to use as trade for weapons.
An ox team drew them in a wagon through Aruth’s East Mountains to Edinburgh. Rob remembered the city with fondness and again longed to visit the museum. Again, there was no time for such activities
.
However, they were able to stay in the same inn where Rob and Doctor Morris stayed. It was the first time Tom had been in a bed for more than a year, though Rob did not feel sorry for him as this punishment was self-imposed. Early the next morning, after a delicious breakfast of beef steak and eggs, Captain Thompson brought them to the baronial palace for court.
Walking through the corridors, Rob kept an eye out for the child-sized figures of Duarve. His hope to speak again with Poulustus Sahko was dashed after they entered the courtroom and heard it announced that the Duarve ambassador was not at court.
Thompson explained: “Scuttlebutt is that Poulustus has become a missionary among its kind. The Duarve are divided. Some say the time for an uprising against us humans has come. Apparently, last year there was some kind of heavenly visitant to the island. Poulustus is leading the efforts to dispel this idea. It is dedicated to peace. Ayday bless him—er, it. The last thing we need is a Duarve rebellion.”
“Has Baron Eric made efforts to help it?” Rob said. He regretted the words as soon as they came. He saw Thompson’s expression change to incredulity.
“We hardly have any contact at all with the Duarve. What do you think we should do?”
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to suggest . . .”
“Anthony!” Baron Eric called out. He strode forward and threw his arms around his friend, the captain. “What are you doing here so soon? You couldn’t have gone to Forgotten Isle and back already.”
“My apologies, sir. We rescued an old friend of the court. I’m sure you remember Rob Engleman of Engle Isle.”
Eric scrutinized Rob’s face for a moment. “The fighting at Alimia,” he said.
Rob bowed in respect. “Sir, I’ve come back to purchase weapons for our ongoing fight. Our numbers have grown, despite losses taken in battle . . .” he hesitated, “including my brother, Mark, who was leading the resistance. We need hand cannons for our fighters, cannons for our ships, and any other weapons you can spare.”