The King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  With a scowl, the girl said, “Very well. A thousand golden royals and I’ll give you what you want.”

  Marcus said, “What makes you think we’d pay that?”

  She gave him a black look as she said, “Because you will.”

  Marcus hesitated, then said, “Wait here.”

  He left, to return a few minutes later with Nicholas and Amos behind. “This girl claims to know what happened when the prisoners were taken from the island. She demands a thousand golden royals to tell us.”

  Amos quickly nodded. “You’ll have it. Now, where are they?”

  “The gold first.”

  Amos fumed, but said, “Very well.” To the others he said, “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” asked Nicholas.

  “To the ship.” He nodded and Ghuda again held the girl in a firm grip.

  “Hey!” she complained.

  “I don’t carry a thousand gold royals on my person, girl. They’re in my cabin. And I won’t harm you; you have my word on that. But if you’re lying, we’ll pitch you over the side and you can swim home.”

  Grumbling but not struggling, Brisa came along. Amos quickly roused the others of his crew in the inn and they all made their way to the docks. The majority of the crew were already aboard the Raptor and the rest came aboard with Amos.

  He moved to where his first mate, Rhodes, waited, and spoke quietly with him for a minute. Then he led the girl and Nicholas to his cabin. Marcus and the others waited on deck.

  Reaching the cabin, Amos entered and motioned for the girl to sit, and for Nicholas to stand before the door, blocking it. “Now, girl,” he said, “where are the captives?”

  Brisa said, “My gold.”

  Amos went to a desk, behind which was a trap in the floor. He opened the trap and pulled a bag out of it. The sound of metal clinking came from the bag. He placed the heavy bag upon the desk and untied a leather thong. Drawing forth a handful of gold and showing them to the girl, he said, “There is the gold. Now tell us what you know.”

  “Give me the gold,” demanded the girl.

  “You’ll have it when you tell us where the captives are.”

  Brisa hesitated, and for a moment Nicholas thought she was going to force an impasse, but at last she said, “All right. When I told your friend that I had followed some cutthroats to where they held your friends captive, I didn’t tell him everything.”

  She paused, and Amos said, “Go on.”

  “There was a ship anchored in deep water, far off the island. I’ve never seen its like, and I’ve seen a lot of ships in Freeport in my day.” She described the ship to Amos. “More than a score of boats were ferrying people from the island to the ship. I didn’t get too close, but I know they were taking everyone off that island.”

  “Where did they go?”

  “I didn’t stay around long enough to see that, but they had only one clear channel out of there, so they had to sail south until they were a couple of days away from here. That ship drew more water than this, so you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

  Amos nodded. “If it draws that much, the ship probably sailed a week south to be clear of the reefs between the islands.”

  Nicholas said, “So you didn’t see where it went. Why should we pay you the gold?”

  “Because two days ago a Keshian trader came in from Taroom. She’d been blown west a week by a squall and had turned northeast to come back to Freeport. A sailor off that ship told me that he was on lookout a couple of days before they reached Freeport and saw the biggest ship he’d ever seen, black like the night, sailing into the sunset.”

  “Sunset!” said Amos. “That’s to the southwest this time of year.”

  “But Kesh lies to the east,” commented Nicholas.

  “And the islands run due west of here,” added Brisa.

  “There’s nothing out there,” said Nicholas. “That’s the Endless Sea.”

  Amos said, “Your father once showed me some charts…”

  Nicholas said, “From Macros the Black! Those charts that show other continents!”

  Amos was silent a moment, then nodded. “Open the door.”

  Nicholas obeyed. Standing there was the first mate. Amos said, “Mr. Rhodes, send word ashore I want the crew back as soon as possible. We catch the evening tide.”

  “Aye, Captain,” he replied.

  The girl came out of her seat. “My gold!” she demanded.

  “You’ll get it,” answered Amos, “when we get back.”

  “Get back!” she spat like an angry cat. “Who said I’d be willing to travel with you to the ends of the world?”

  Amos returned a grin as evil as Nicholas had ever seen it. “I did, girl. And if I find you’re sending us after phantoms, your swim home will be a lot longer than across the harbor.”

  The girl was up with her dagger out, but Nicholas was ready, and his sword knocked the blade from her hand. “Behave yourself,” he said with the sword leveled at her for emphasis. “No one here will hurt you if you don’t cause trouble. But these people we seek are important to us, and if you’re lying it’ll go hard. Better tell the truth now.”

  The girl looked like a cornered rat and her eyes darted to every quarter, looking for an escape route. Seeing none, at last she said, “I’m not lying. The sailor had too many details about the ship right. It’s the same one. He was six hours south of Headers Reef, to the west of Three Fingers Island. Do you know it?”

  Amos nodded. “I know it.”

  “Take a bearing an hour before sunset, with the sun about five points to the starboard and you’ll be on a dead line with the black ship.”

  Amos nodded. “If your information is right, you’ll get your gold and more. Now I’ll have blankets put by for you in the rope locker. Stay away from my men, and if you cause trouble, I’ll lock you in the chain locker, which is far less comfortable. Understood?”

  The girl nodded sullenly. With a defiant toss of her chin, she said, “May I go now?”

  Amos stood. “Yes. And, Nicholas…”

  “Yes?”

  “Stay close to her until we’re too far from land for her to swim home. If she makes a break for the rail, hit her over the head.”

  Nicholas smiled ruefully, and said, “I’ll be happy to.”

  The girl threw him a dark and angry glare as she left the cabin, a half-step ahead of him.

  11

  PURSUIT

  Margaret shuddered.

  Abigail asked, “What is it?”

  “That…odd sensation, again.” Margaret closed her eyes.

  “What else? Tell me,” demanded Abigail. For a month, once or twice a day, Margaret had been visited by a strange feeling. Sometimes she likened it to a chill; other times it was a tingling sensation over her entire body. It wasn’t painful or threatening but alien.

  “It’s closer,” said Margaret.

  “What’s closer?”

  “Whatever’s making me feel this way.” Margaret rose and crossed to the large window. They had been given a cabin in the aft of the ship, above the rudder house. It was not large, being one of two below the captain’s cabin, but it had the benefit of something larger than the tiny porthole in their first cabin. There was a divan at the foot of the two beds, their heads under the window, a small table between them. Meals were served by silent men who refused to engage in even the most meaningless banter. Twice a day they were taken up on deck, weather permitting, and allowed to take the sun and stretch their legs.

  The weather was changing, growing warmer. Margaret found this odd, given they were approaching early winter, but the crew seemed to think nothing of the balmy days. And the days were growing longer. Margaret had pondered these oddities aloud, but Abigail had been totally uninterested.

  Margaret climbed up on her bed and pushed open the small window. She could stick her head out and look down at the large rudder as the water swirled behind. The ability to keep the air in the cabin fresh was welcome after the days spent bel
ow in the hold of the smaller ships. She often wondered how the less fortunate prisoners were doing, for despite their having their own small bunks, there was no fresh air and little light in the slaver’s decks.

  The door opened and a familiar face appeared. Arjuna Svadjian bowed in his strange fashion, both hands pressed together, the steeple of his fingers before his face. “I trust you are well,” he said, in what the girls now knew was a formal greeting.

  Margaret and Abigail had been visited each day by this man, and each day he had engaged them in what seemed pointless conversation. There was nothing menacing about his behavior or appearance; he was of medium height, he wore his beard closely trimmed, and his clothing was of expensive weave but plain cut. He looked the part of a prosperous businessman, and could even have passed for a trader from a distant port of Kesh, had he been traveling in the Kingdom.

  At first the conversation was a welcome diversion from the sameness of each minute. The cabin might be more comfortable than the previous accommodations, but it was still a cell. Then the girls went through a period of being difficult, giving him meaningless answers to his questions, or purposely contradicting themselves. He seemed equally indifferent to either tack, merely absorbing whatever they said.

  Every once in a while he was accompanied by another man, one they had met the first day called Saji, who said little. He would occasionally pause to write something down on a tablet of parchment he carried, but otherwise he just observed.

  “Today I would ask you to tell me more of your uncle, this Prince Arutha,” said Arjuna.

  “Why, so you can better prepare to make war on him?”

  The man showed neither irritation at the accusation nor amusement, saying, “To conduct a war across so vast a sea is difficult.” He provided no further comment on her question, but said, “Do you know Prince Arutha well?”

  “Not well,” she answered.

  He was not a man to show the girls any emotion, but something about the way he moved forward slightly gave Margaret the feeling he was pleased at that answer.

  “You have met him, though?”

  “When I was a small child,” answered Margaret.

  To Abigail he said, “What of you? Have you met this Prince Arutha?”

  Abigail shook her head. “My father has never taken me to court.”

  Arjuna whispered something to Saji in an alien language, and the small man made a note on his tablet.

  The interview wore on. The questions were seemingly unrelated to those asked at previous interviews. After most of the morning was past, the girls were bored, tired, and frustrated, but Arjuna never seemed to tire during these interviews. At midday, a small meal was provided the girls, but he did not eat, merely slowing the interview so that they could consume the simple meal of biscuits, dried meat, dried fruit, and a cup of wine. They had learned early to eat all the food brought them, for Abigail had refused to touch her meal one day. Two of the silent men had entered and one had held her in place while the other had force-fed her. All Arjuna had said was “You must keep up your strength and be well.”

  After the meal, he excused himself, and they heard him enter the cabin next door. Margaret hurried to the bulkhead that separated the cabins and tried to listen, as she did each time he entered that cabin. There was a mysterious passenger whom Arjuna consulted with from time to time, but no one else ever entered the cabin. Margaret had once boldly asked who was in there, but Arjuna had ignored the question and countered with one of his own.

  A low murmur of voices could barely be made out, but no words were intelligible. Then suddenly Margaret was again visited by that strange tingling sensation, this time stronger than ever. At the same moment, a voice was raised in alarm in the next cabin, and the sound of feet moving toward its rear came through the bulkhead.

  Margaret glanced out the small window to the left, and there she saw a hooded figure half leaning out of the window. The figure extended an arm, pointing behind the ship, and exclaimed, “She-cha! Ja-nisht souk, Svadjian!”

  Margaret pulled back inside the cabin, her face ashen and her eyes wide.

  Seeing her expression, Abigail whispered, “What is it?”

  Margaret reached over and took Abigail’s hand. Gripping it tightly, she said, “I saw our neighbor. He…it stuck its hand out. It was covered with green scales.”

  Abigail’s eyes widened and her eyes brimmed with tears. Margaret warned, “If you begin crying again, I’ll slap you so hard you’ll really have something to cry about.”

  Voice trembling, Abigail said, “I’m frightened, Margaret.”

  “And you think I’m not?” asked the other girl. “We can’t let them know we know.”

  Abigail said, “I’ll try.”

  “There’s something else.”

  “What?”

  “We’re being followed.”

  Abigail’s eyes widened again and she looked hopeful for the first time since they had been captured. “How do you know? Who is it?”

  Margaret said, “That thing in the next compartment felt whatever it is I’ve been feeling lately, and he complained that someone was overtaking us.”

  “You heard that?”

  “I heard the tone, and it wasn’t pleased. And there’s something in that sensation I’ve been feeling that finally makes sense to me.”

  “What?”

  “I know who’s following us.”

  “Who?”

  “Anthony.”

  Abigail said, “Anthony?” in a disappointed tone.

  “He’s not alone, I promise you,” said Margaret. “It must be some magic of his that I’m feeling.” Her expression turned reflective. “I wonder why I can feel it and you can’t.”

  Abigail shrugged. “Who understands magic?”

  “Do you think you could squeeze through that window?”

  Abigail glanced at it and said, “I might if I wasn’t wearing this gown.”

  “Then we’ll take our gowns off,” said Margaret.

  Abigail said, “What are you thinking?”

  “The second I see a ship behind us, I plan on getting off this one. Are you a good swimmer?”

  Abigail shook her head and looked afraid to answer.

  “Can you swim at all?” asked Margaret incredulously.

  Abigail said, “I can paddle some if the water’s not too difficult.”

  Margaret said, “Lives by the sea her entire life and she can paddle some.” Looking hard at her friend, she said, “You’ll paddle, and I’ll keep you out of trouble if I must. If a ship’s coming after us, we won’t be in the water that long.”

  “What if they don’t see us?”

  “Worry about that at the time” was Margaret’s answer.

  Then Margaret again felt the strange tingle and she said, “They re coming.”

  —

  ANTHONY POINTED, AND Amos sighted along his arm and said, “Two points to port, Mr. Rhodes.”

  Nicholas, Harry, and Marcus watched the magician for a minute, then Harry said, “I don’t know how he can be certain. Everyone at Crydee said he wasn’t a very good magician.”

  Nicholas said, “He may not be a good magician, but Nakor says he just knows where”—he was about to say “Margaret,” but, knowing of Harry’s infatuation with her, he changed it to—“the girls are. Nakor’s pretty certain Anthony’s on the right track. And Pug said to follow Nakor’s advice.” Amos had Anthony use his magic three times a day, at sunrise, noon, and sunset, to correct his course.

  Nakor was up at the bow of the ship, talking to Calis. Ghuda was off by himself, a short distance away from the little Isalani, lost in his own thoughts.

  Harry glanced around the horizon. “How anybody can know anything about where they are on this endless expanse of water is beyond me,” he said.

  Nicholas was forced to agree. Save for some white clouds to the north of them, the sky was empty, as was the ocean. There was nothing to break up the constantly moving surface of the water. For the first three
weeks of the journey, they had seen islands here and there, all part of the Sunset Islands chain, and it broke up the monotony of the journey.

  Once the excitement of being in relatively close pursuit had worn off, the ship had fallen into a routine. The tension remained, for Marcus paced the deck, when weather permitted, like a caged animal, and when the weather was inclement, he sat brooding. Nicholas and Harry lent a hand wherever possible, trying to relieve the boredom, and were becoming fair deep-water sailors in the process. The constant work and meager food had given Nicholas and Harry a rangy, lean appearance, and the time spent aloft or on deck had turned Nicholas a deep tan. Harry’s fair skin had burned badly until Anthony had soothed it with salve, and now he was as brown as if he had lived all his life upon the beach. Nicholas had shaved his beard, while Marcus had let his grow, so while there was still a resemblance, it wasn’t as obvious.

  The others had fallen into their own routine. Nakor and Anthony spent much of the time discussing magic, or “tricks,” as Nakor insisted on calling it, and Ghuda seemed content to keep his own company, though from time to time he could be seen in deep conversation with Calis.

  The progress of the ship matched the deepening of concern in all aboard the vessel, for Amos had ordered rations cut. He had felt they were reasonably provisioned when they had set out, but not knowing if land was only moments beyond the horizon or still weeks off, he felt it better to stretch them out. And with the hunger that came with the rationing came the realization that they were truly sailing into unknown waters.

  For the last month they had sailed out of sight of any land, their final contact with the Sunset Islands being a pitiful little series of sandbars and coral outcroppings that could hardly be called islands. Once they had fallen behind, there was nothing but the sea.

  Nicholas knew that there was another land across the water. He had accepted it as a fact, because that’s what his father had told him. But here he stood on the deck of a ship, sailing into what was commonly called the Endless Sea, to a land where no man of the Kingdom had ever ventured, and no matter how he tried, he could not leave aside the little nagging doubt, a small voice that said, “Perhaps the sailors are right; perhaps the map is a hoax.”