“Wait a damn moment, Smithee. Now that I think of it, these soldiers of yours arrested me the day after Mary died. Was this damn Stanford plotting against me even then?”
“Thomas Stanford has long feared you, my lord.”
“Ah! He has good reason to,” Hugh stated, pleased. “Wait until I tell my lawyer!”
“On the contrary, I would advise that you drop the challenge, my lord,” said Smythe gravely. “A pending court case would look bad, particularly if something were to happen to His Majesty.”
Hugh fixed him with an intense look, his puffy eyes glinting. “Do you think that’s likely, Smithee?”
“I’m sure we all hope and pray for His Majesty’s well-being,” said Smythe.
Hugh winked at him. “I guess we understand each other, then. I like you, Smithee.”
He slammed Smythe on the shoulder, nearly knocking him out of his chair, then poured himself another glass. He raised it in a salute.
“God save the king.”
Hugh laughed and gulped.
Smythe left soon after, satisfied with the meeting, for he now knew that Hugh was a dunderhead who could be cozened and blackmailed and would not hinder Smythe’s plans. And if worse came to worst, Smythe could always poison his port.
THIRTY-FOUR
The weather had turned ugly during the early part of the Terrapin’s voyage to Wellinsport.
Fog and the thickening mists of the Breath and the incessant damp left Henry chilled to the bone. Water dripped off the sails and the ropes; the damp pervaded everything.
After two days of thick mists, the wind rose and shredded the fog. This morning he had wakened to clear skies and sunshine. The wind died, the sails hung limp, and the Terrapin was forced to rely on her airscrews to keep sailing.
The lubbers cheered the sight of the sun. The old hands shook their heads and muttered, “The Winter Witch is going to come to call.”
Henry’s bullet wound was mending well, thanks to the excellent services of the ship’s surgeon, Mr. Perry; the surgeon’s mate, who was skilled at healing magic; and the attentiveness and patience of Mr. Sloan.
Henry no longer needed to take laudanum, which he despised, for the pain, but his fever had left him weak as watered wine. When he first insisted on leaving his bed, he could walk only with assistance from Mr. Sloan. Henry was pleased to find that he regained his strength quickly. Only a few days later, he was able to walk on his own and to go out on deck and bask in the sunshine.
The surgeon’s mate was also the ship’s chaplain, and he told Henry he must have lived an exemplary life for God to have blessed him. Once, Henry would have laughed with Alan over that comment. Unfortunately, he and Alan had not spoken since they had left Haever. Henry could not forgive his friend for having abducted him, as he put it.
“Captain Northrop did not abduct you, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan, gently remonstrating. He was assisting the surgeon, Perry, to change Henry’s bandage. “He saved your life by removing you from the danger in Haever.”
Henry stirred impatiently.
“Please hold still, sir,” Perry admonished. “The more you fidget, the longer this procedure will take.”
“Perhaps I didn’t want to be saved,” said Henry petulantly. “What the devil good to me is my life if I return to find that Smythe has named himself Lord Protector?”
Henry winced and stifled a groan as Perry peeled off the bloodstained bandage that had adhered to the wound. “The countess warned me that King Ullr is plotting something. There is a reason Smythe dispatched the most formidable ship in our navy to Wellinsport to protect against some ridiculous threat from the Rosians. They have no intention of attacking Wellinsport. Ullr made this up because wants to be rid of the Terrapin so that he can attack with impunity.”
“You do not know that for certain, my lord.”
“Which is why I should be in Freya!” Henry bellowed. “Alan must take me back.”
He gasped from the pain and swore beneath his breath. He glared at Perry. “Where the devil did you train, sir? The Royal Slaughterhouse?”
“I must ask you to calm down, my lord,” Perry said. “You will bring on a return of the fever.”
“Damn the fever! Fetch Alan, Mr. Sloan! I want to talk to him,” Henry ordered.
“I will do so, my lord, if you will rest quietly while you wait,” said Mr. Sloan.
Henry grumbled, but he lay down in his bed and gazed grimly out the porthole at the darkening clouds that presaged the arrival of the Winter Witch, the name the sailors gave to the unusually fierce wizard storms that plagued the Breath during the winter.
Perry accompanied Mr. Sloan as he went up on deck. The wind was rising. Lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled in the distance. The surgeon and the secretary conferred in low voices.
“How is His Lordship, sir?” Mr. Sloan asked.
“Physically, he is healing well,” said Perry. “Mentally, he is extremely agitated, and that is not good for him. This talk of King Ullr invading Freya. Is there any truth to this? I do not ask out of idle curiosity. If His Lordship is delusional…”
Mr. Sloan did not respond, and Perry was quick to add, “Only if you can tell me without betraying state secrets, Mr. Sloan.”
“You are His Lordship’s physician and you should know what is needful to protect his health, sir,” said Mr. Sloan. “The Countess de Marjolaine did warn Sir Henry that Guundaran fleets were on the move. She believes that Ullr may try to take advantage of the king’s youth and inexperience to further Guundaran interests.”
“The countess is a Rosian, Mr. Sloan,” said Perry, frowning. “Is she to be trusted?”
“His Lordship would have said no to that question at one time. Since then, he has changed his opinion and believes the countess to be telling him the truth about Ullr. Captain Northrop maintains that the countess is duplicitous in professing her friendship for His Lordship, hoping to convince Sir Henry that Ullr is about to attack Haever, when the countess’s true goal is to seize Wellinsport in the name of Rosia.”
“To hear you speak of such tangles makes me thankful I am nothing but a simple sawbones, Mr. Sloan,” said Perry. “What is your opinion?”
“I believe the danger to Freya is very real, sir,” said Mr. Sloan. “My primary concern, however, is the danger to Sir Henry. Captain Northrop is right. If His Lordship returns to Haever, his life is forfeit.”
He and Perry found Alan on deck, keeping grim watch on the approaching storms. Mr. Sloan deferentially approached him and relayed Henry’s request.
“I cannot come now, Mr. Sloan,” said Alan curtly. “You have only to look at those clouds massing to the east to know why. Mr. Perry, you should return to your surgery. Your skills will soon be needed. Mr. Sloan, tell Henry I will speak to him once the danger to my ship is past.”
He walked away, shouting orders. Perry and Mr. Sloan exchanged glances, both knowing how Henry would react to this answer. Perry went below to prepare for broken bones, cracked skulls, and other injuries the crew would be likely to suffer when the Witch began to bat the Terrapin about like a shuttlecock.
The Terrapin had been a massive Deep Breath cargo ship before she was transformed by the installation of crafter Pietro Alcazar’s magical steel plates that covered her hull and gave the ship her name. Alcazar had found a way to reinforce the steel with magical constructs that made the plates able to withstand not only cannonballs and gunfire, but also a dragon’s fiery breath.
Since the heavy cargo ship had to be capable of sailing the Deep Breath, she came already equipped with large lift tanks. The refitters used the cargo space to add more lift tanks to accommodate the increased weight of the metal plates, as well as larger airscrews. Like her namesake, the Terrapin was well protected from predators, but she was also ungainly and slow.
Mr. Sloan returned to tell Henry that Alan could not leave the deck due to his concern for the safety of the ship and crew. Henry was furious, and jumped to his feet, saying he would speak to Ala
n himself. At that moment, a gust of wind buffeted the ship. Lightning half blinded them and the thunder struck with a violent boom. Henry staggered, and would have fallen if Mr. Sloan had not been there to catch him.
“I suggest you return to your bed, sir,” said Mr. Sloan. “Perry warns that if you reinjure your clavicle, you might lose the use of your arm.”
“What does he know—the quack!” Henry muttered, but he did take Mr. Sloan’s advice and returned to his bed.
The storms lasted for days. The rain changed to sleet, pelting the crew with stinging pellets of ice, coating the deck and riming the rigging. Men slipped and slid and fell. Perry and the healer had all the work they could manage mending lacerations and broken bones.
The Witch proved deadly. A cannon broke loose from its moorings and went careening about the gun deck, crushing a man. Another died of a broken neck when he tumbled down the stairs, and a third was blown overboard and lost.
The Witch howled and moaned and screeched; the ship lurched and rocked, threatening every moment to turn turtle. Alan found it nearly impossible to take navigational readings. He and his officers could only hazard a guess as to where the Witch was taking them.
At last the Witch relented and released them from her grip. The winds calmed and the sun shone, melting the ice and raising their spirits. They committed their dead to the Breath and set about trying to claw their way back on course.
Alan went down to Henry’s cabin to check on his friend. With his ship in peril, he had slept little the past few days and he was gray from fatigue. Henry was too preoccupied with his own concerns to notice.
“How are you feeling, Henry?” Alan asked. “The healer and Mr. Perry both tell me you are on the mend.”
“I am fine,” Henry snapped. “Or rather, I would be fine if I were not being held prisoner in a ship far from where I need to be! Alan, you must sail back to Haever!”
“You know I cannot, Henry,” said Alan wearily. “My orders are to sail to Wellinsport.”
“You are being duped, Alan!” Henry said impatiently. “The Rosians have no intention of invading Wellinsport. They would be fools to do so, for they would have to contend with the Estarans—”
“Damn the Estarans!” Alan flared, losing patience. “Did it ever occur to you, Henry, that for once in your life you might be wrong?”
“I am not wrong about this!” Henry said through gritted teeth.
He started to add something about being wrong in his choice of friends, but he closed his mouth on the biting words that would have resulted in an irreparable rupture between him and Alan.
Henry massaged his shoulder, which ached abominably.
“Alan, I understand what I am asking you to do is difficult—”
“Difficult!” Alan repeated in outraged disbelief. “By asking me to refuse to obey an order to engage the Rosians in Wellinsport, turn my ship around and sail back to Haever, it will be said that I am fleeing battle with the enemy. Shall I quote the naval regulation: ‘Any Captain or other officer, mariner or others, who shall basely desert their duty or station in the ship and run away while the enemy is in fight, or in time of action, or entice others to do so, shall suffer death or such other punishment as a court-martial shall inflict.’”
“But you are not fleeing a battle in Wellinsport, Alan,” Henry argued. “There is no battle in Wellinsport because the Rosians aren’t going to attack Wellinsport. King Ullr is going to attack Haever!”
Henry clenched his fist and slammed it on the table, jarring the broken bone. He groaned in pain and clutched his arm.
“I am sorry I spoke harshly, Henry,” Alan said wearily. “The storm blew the ship off course. I have had four hours’ sleep in two days.”
He paused, then added, “I know your family is in Rosia. Even if we are at war, I am certain that no matter what happens, the countess will keep them safe.”
“This has nothing to do with my family!” Henry said, his jaw tight.
A midshipman appeared at the door. “Begging your pardon, Captain, but you are wanted on deck.”
Alan looked at Henry. Henry glared at him. The silence became unendurable. Alan shook his head and left.
Henry, thinking of his family, put his hands to his eyes.
Mr. Sloan poured a snifter of brandy and placed it at his elbow. Henry sighed deeply and raised his head.
“I know I was being unreasonable to demand that Alan defy his orders and return to Freya.” He took a sip, then pushed it aside. “But I also know with more certainty than I have ever been certain of anything in my life that I am right. Our beloved country is in peril and we are sailing away and leaving her.”
* * *
The Terrapin reached the Trame Channel after a seven-day voyage that should have taken three. Henry’s health continued to improve. He was able to walk about the deck in the sunshine, enjoying the warmth and fair weather of the Aligoes.
The Terrapin was slated to arrive in Wellinsport the next day. Henry would prove to Alan that the city wasn’t under siege by the Rosians. This knowledge should have lightened his mood, but his spirits did not mend. He barked at Perry and snapped at Mr. Sloan. He and Alan had not spoken since their last meeting. The two men avoided each other as much as was possible given the confined area of a ship. Each drank his after-dinner brandy alone.
Mr. Sloan had been hoping to find a way to reconcile the two friends, but before he could do so, Henry dispatched him to Freeport to talk to Olaf and Akiel.
“You will need to hire one of the island hoppers to take you there. I promised Simon I would contact Olaf, find out if he’d had any success with the search for his White Well,” said Henry. “I don’t expect it, Mr. Sloan, but I can at least assure him we made every effort to find the damn thing.”
The morning the Terrapin entered the Trame Channel, the ship was besieged by a flotilla of the small boats known as island hoppers that traveled among the islands of the Aligoes, offering to ferry people to port or trying to sell their wares to the sailors.
Wellinsport was famous for its whorehouses, and women in gaudy clothes shouted invitations to the men to visit their various establishments. Trundlers offered to sell bottles of Calvados or the famous Aligoes rum. Alan posted marines to stand guard to try to keep the sailors from smuggling liquor on board.
Mr. Sloan located a small inter-island hopper whose skipper would take him to Freeport, and negotiated a price.
“The man says we are within a half-day’s journey from here to Freeport, my lord,” Mr. Sloan reported to Henry, who had come up on deck.
“That means you will be gone two days,” said Henry. “I will remain on board ship, so report to me here. Unless, of course, I am battling Rosians,” he added caustically.
Mr. Sloan pretended he had not heard that last.
The Trame Channel was not much traveled this time of year due to the Winter Witch. Only a few intrepid merchant ships would venture to cross the Witch, and these were generally owned by the Travian cartels, who dealt in everything from cotton to gunpowder and who could afford to risk a ship and her crew for the sake of profit.
Henry put his spyglass to his eye and swept the channel. Only a few ships had docked along the shoreline of the Trame Channel where they waited to obtain permission to enter Wellinsport Harbor and obtain the services of a harbor pilot that would guide them.
No ship was permitted to sail into the harbor without permission from the governor. Every ship needed a harbor pilot to advise the captain of the best route to take to navigate the narrow entrance to the harbor and show him where to dock once the ship had arrived. The only ships Henry saw were merchant vessels: two Travians, an Estaran, and one from Bheldem.
Alan was on deck awaiting the arrival of the harbor pilot. He was studiously ignoring Henry. For his part, Henry was about to make a caustic remark regarding the absence of a Rosian invasion fleet, when he saw something that caused him to forget the Rosians. He trained his spyglass on three Guundaran warships docked along t
he shore of the channel, presumably seeking permission to enter Wellinsport Harbor.
Henry turned to say something to Alan, but he was welcoming the harbor pilot on board the ship. The pilot took his place beside the captain and the helmsman, and the island hoppers scattered as the ship sailed toward the entrance to the Deep Breath harbor for which Wellinsport was renowned.
Located on the island of Whitefalls, the city of Wellinsport stretched out in a crescent along the western shore of the harbor. The naval dockyards were located on the southern end of the crescent, guarded by a series of gun emplacements built into the hillsides. Commercial and private docks dominated the rest of the shoreline. Smaller vessels, such as the island hoppers and a floating colony of Trundler houseboats, docked to the north. Low hills rose to rugged cliffs in the east, ending in a narrow passage that led to the Trame Channel.
The harbor pilot stood by the Terrapin’s helmsman, giving him directions. Alan oversaw the proceedings, issuing orders to reduce sail as the ship crept through the Neck, as the entrance to the harbor was known, so called because on a map, the harbor resembled a person’s head.
Alan was dressed in his finest. After the ship docked, he would go ashore to pay his respects to the governor. He had given orders to ready his pinnace, and stood surveying the ships in the harbor while he was waiting.
Henry continued to watch the Guundarans through his spyglass and said suddenly, in an altered tone, “Alan, where are the ships of the Aligoes Fleet? They are not at their usual station.”
The Aligoes Fleet consisted of two warships and a large number of frigates and brigs. The smaller ships were more practical for sailing the narrow passages between the islands while two ships of the line could still command the Trame Channel. It was not unusual for half of the fleet to be away hunting pirates and smugglers, but it was rare for the entire fleet to have left the harbor unguarded.
At Henry’s question about the fleet, Alan jerked his head around and looked immediately to the south, where he should have seen Admiral Tower’s flagship, Indomitable. The only ship in sight was a Trundler vessel with its bright-colored balloon and sails, “trundling” along the channel.
Kingmaker (The Dragon Corsairs) Page 33