by Glenda Larke
“Enough proof to sink their damn fleet with the Karradar Council, eh?”
“I certainly hope so.” He suspected that Lustgrader had never considered his attack would end up being such a fiasco. He gave a grim smile; he would make the Lowmian pay for that miscalculation.
He turned to where Ardhi sat on the deck with blood dribbling down his face from a head cut. He was pale, clutching his left arm tight to his body. More blood soaked the cloth of his jacket at the shoulder. He was surprisingly composed as he watched what was happening up on the fo’c’scle. Juster followed his gaze, thinking he might be concerned about Saker who had suffered some minor cuts and bruises, but it was Sorrel who had his attention.
Now that’s interesting. “Ardhi, I owe you my ship and probably my life. I was in my cabin when you yelled the warning and I could well have died then and there. My gratitude, and my thanks.”
The lascar looked up at him. “You saved me from the Lowmians!”
“Then let’s say we are even. The surgeon will take a look at that shoulder of yours.”
He looked around for Surgeon Barklee, but he was still attending to the bo’sun’s mate who was lying on the deck in a pool of blood. Even as he caught Barklee’s eye, the man shook his head. “Sorry, my lord,” he said. “Too much blood lost. He’s dead, rot those fobbing canker-worms of Lowmian scum.”
Young Norbert had been barely eighteen. Juster’s rage roiled once more. Va, but he would get his revenge for this death. He signalled Barklee over to attend to Ardhi. “The man’s in pain for all he’ll hide it,” he murmured. “Give him some tincture of opium when you fix that shoulder. Fix him before you bother with that Lowmian seaman with the lump on his head.”
Once he was sure that everything was being attended to, he marched off to look at the damage to his cabin himself.
Someone had lit a lantern there, and what he could see by its light almost broke his heart. He stood stock still, taking it all in.
The windowed rear wall that had once projected out over the water was missing, and so was the decking immediately above that section, which had once been part of the poop deck. Everything that remained was either scorched, sodden, broken, or pitted with shrapnel. Sobered, he acknowledged there was no way Golden Petrel was going to sail anywhere without repair. And he’d been right; had he been in the cabin when the shrapnel balls exploded, he would have died.
“I’m so sorry, Juster.”
He turned to find Saker had followed him.
His hands balled into fists. “I think I want to strangle you. Lustgrader was probably after your arse rather than mine.”
“Quite likely. Which is why I’m sorrier than I can say.”
“At least your damn lascar saved my ship, not to mention my mother’s darling.”
He looked blank, so he said, “Me, you canker worm. I was down here when Ardhi bellowed for me to come up on deck. If it weren’t for him, my hide would have as many holes as the ship has scuppers.”
“Ah. Yes. I’m glad the noble hide is still wholly whole, rather than just holey, then.” He ran fingers through his hair and added sombrely, “Ardhi is a valuable friend to have.”
The next day, after a blissfully long and painless sleep, followed by an excellent meal, Ardhi met Saker, Finch and Lord Juster in the officer’s wardroom. There was a gaping hole where all the windows had blown out, and a smell of smoked wood and salt water permeated everything, but the room itself was otherwise intact. Already there were sounds of ongoing repairs being made to the captain’s cabin next door.
Ardhi seated himself at the wardroom table, wincing. His shoulder felt as if shards of glass had been jammed into the bone, and the rest of his bruised body was not much better. Sorrel, sitting opposite, gave him a strained, white-faced nod. Juster had already told him she had spent much of the night keeping watch over him. He smiled his thanks.
“To bring you all up to date,” Juster said. “Finch and I questioned the ship’s boy and the wounded Lowmian tar Ardhi delivered into our hands last night. Their tale was illuminating. We persuaded them to recite it to the Karradar authorities, who objected quite colourfully to the violation of their neutrality. They have ordered the Lowmian fleet to leave. None of those particular ships are to be permitted to return, ever. So their ill-considered attack has cost them dear.”
“Insanity,” Finch muttered. “What the blithering blazes could have prompted Lustgrader to order something so daft?”
Saker shot a warning glance at Ardhi, indicating he wasn’t about to enlighten the first mate. We made a mess of things, you and I, Saker, Ardhi thought. Between my sakti magic and your decision to use it, we brought an astute and experienced ship’s captain to the brink of madness.
He suspected Saker was wracked with guilt about it, but it wasn’t a sentiment he shared. Lustgrader had sent his tars to kill the Raja Wiramulia, bringing to an end the reign of a wise ruler long before he had time to impart his skills and knowledge to his heir.
“To put what I just said another way,” Juster continued, “my prime target, the one that would have the greatest wealth in cargo because of the capacity of the holds of its three fluyts, is about to sail out of the harbour never to return. Which will make my task of finding them on their return journey from the Spicerie a great deal harder.” He didn’t look happy.
“They still go Summer Seas?” Ardhi asked, straining to keep the hate he felt out of his voice. “Not home to Lowmeer?”
Juster snorted. “With their tail between their legs like a beaten cur? Lustgrader would never do that! If he did, the merchant Uthen Kesleer and Regal Vilmar Vollendorn would dice him up as fish bait.”
Finch frowned. “Long journey home for his fleet from the Summer Seas if they don’t call in here. They need water and fresh food.”
“They could hug the mainland coast,” Saker said.
This time it was Finch who snorted. “The Glacier Coast? Easy to see you’re no sailor! Almost every ship that’s tried that found themselves holed by icefloes and bergs, or battered to death by storms.”
“Certainly they’ll have to take on water on their way back,” Juster said, “but they could do that by sneaking into one of the Calves of Karradar and finding a stream. They could hunt there too, for fresh food, and hope by the time anyone from Port Karradar realised they were there, they’d be gone. Anyway, that’s not our concern.”
“They did hand over your baggage, yours and Ardhi’s, as we demanded,” Finch said to Saker. “But Ardhi says there are things missing.”
Saker looked at him then, and he stared back, knowing the witan would assume the plumes were gone. Neither of them had expected anything else. The stab of pain he felt in his chest was as real as the ache in his shoulder, and twice as agonising to his soul. All he had worked for, all he had fought for, and it was out of reach.
His hand fingered the bone hilt of his kris, touched the fine carving that marked it with patterns. Wiramulia’s bone and his blood and the filaments of his regalia… Would it be enough? He’d gambled everything when he’d dived off the Spice Winds.
“My sword?” Saker asked Finch.
“It’s here.”
The smile Saker gave was an indication of how much store he put by the weapon, even though it had no sakti and its damask was so plain. Saker, whatever I have done, it was for your witchery, not your sword hand.
“And… and Golden Petrel? Can you repair it here, captain?” Saker asked.
“Her, not it, you ignorant lubber. I’ve arranged for Karradar carpenters to help our ship’s carpenter. They will start work immediately on the repairs. It’s costing me a fortune to make it a quick job. I’ll have to persuade people to part with their seasoned timber already earmarked for other things. And as for glass, they say they can persuade townsfolk to take out their own windows if I offer them enough.”
“All of which will amount to a small fortune. Va only knows how we’ll recoup it,” Finch said sourly.
“Maybe Va doesn’t
, but I do,” Juster told him.
Finch’s sour expression didn’t alter. “Catching a few ordinary Lowmian traders between here and home won’t refill our coffers in a hurry.”
“I’ve just had worse news than that. The earlier Kesleer fleet, the one that left Ustgrind last year: it’s been sighted on its way back home through the Calves of Karradar. And Golden Petrel is too wounded to do a thing about them. They’ll be long gone on their way home to Lowmeer before we are ready to sail again.” He pulled a face that summed up his disgust, then added, “Which is why, as soon as we have a seaworthy ship once more, we are sailing for the Summer Seas.”
There was a startled silence.
It was Finch who broke it. “Who’s been sipping at the bilge-water?” he growled. “ ’Cause summat’s rotted your brain, m’lord!”
“You are looking at a privateer in a rage, Finch,” Juster said. His tone was pure steel. “I intend to stalk Lustgrader’s fleet all the way to the Spicerie, wait until they’ve bought and paid for their spice cargoes, seize all three fluyts, sink the galleon and the carrack–if they haven’t already foundered–and sail my own spice fleet all the way back to Throssel, as a present for my prince and my king.”
Saker stared across at Ardhi, his frown thunderous. Ardhi had a good idea why; he was blaming the sakti again, upset because he was supposed to be a peacemaking witan, not part of a vengeful exercise in privateering. The woman he served would not like it.
Ardhi smiled at him. He doubted if sakti had anything to do with Lord Juster’s decision and he didn’t care one way or the other. All he cared was that they would be sailing for the Summer Seas. The Spicerie wasn’t the Chenderawasi Archipelago, but it was close.
Saker knew Juster’s idea had advantages: they could be sure that Sorrel would have a safe passage to Javenka and he and Ardhi would be heading in the right direction. Perhaps Ardhi would have a chance to retrieve his plumes. And in the end, Saker could possibly return to the Va-cherished Hemisphere aboard Golden Petrel.
Yes, for him and Ardhi and Sorrel, Juster’s madcap idea was definitely one that had plenty of advantages. But for Juster? It was a huge risk. The journey to the Spicerie and Chenderawasi and the return to Throssel would take over a year. It meant risking storms and pirates, the diseases that thrived in the warm climes of the Summer Seas, and the sometimes unpredictable hostile local rajas.
Saker waited until he and Juster were alone before probing some more. He didn’t have to dig too deeply: Juster was willing enough to explain.
“Did you know that Lustgrader’s ship’s boy didn’t want to go back to Spice Winds?” he asked when he came across Saker watching the crew clean up the mess that had been the aft deck.
“You mean Banstel’s still on board?”
“He is indeed.” Juster took a swig from the flagon of wine he was holding before handing it across to him. “Apparently he’s more scared of what Lustgrader would do to him. It seems he was already in trouble with the captain. After he brought Sorrel here, he went back to get the second swabbie from the island. Once on Spice Winds again, Lustgrader showed his gratitude by blaming Banstel for everything that had gone wrong. The bastard said he was going to whip the lad. Fortunately it was postponed because of everything that happened, but Banstel felt sure it was still in his future. I promised him a berth and a cabin boy’s pay, and he’s decided to stay.”
“He’s a good lad, as far as I know. But he is Lowmian. He might be persuaded to change sides again, so watch him.”
“You have a jaundiced view of humanity, my friend.”
“I’m a cleric. And a spy. Believe me, I’ve seen everything, in spite of my tender years.”
“He told us more about Ardhi’s plumes.”
“What about them?”
“Lustgrader searched Ardhi’s kitbag. Stole his money and three golden plumes hidden in a piece of wood.”
“Bambu. It’s hollow.”
“Bambu, wood, whatever. Lustgrader immediately rid himself of the feathers by sending them across to Sentinel.”
“Ah. I think I can guess why.”
“Then please enlighten me.”
“The galleon is the Regal’s vessel. The others all belong to the Lowmian Spice Trading Company. I think Lustgrader is gifting the plumes to the Regal.”
“Why?”
“It could just be because they scare him to death. More likely because the Regal has ordered him to obtain plumes, and he’d rather hand over the responsibility of them to the captain of the Regal’s ship. There’s also the possibility that he thinks that will put Regal Vilmar under a spell to him in the future.”
“That last is what I thought. And that is why I’ve decided to go after Lustgrader. I reckon when you gifted one to Lustgrader he spent too much time fighting the coercion. It drove him insane. Or at least made him irrational in his risk-taking. Those plumes are poison, Saker. Evil things, full of Chenderawasi sorcery. I want them to stay where they belong: in Chenderawasi. And that, apparently, is exactly where the Chenderawasi want them too.”
“So… you want to help Ardhi bring them back to his island.”
He nodded. “And revenge on Lustgrader would be so… nice.” His smile had a grim edge to it. “I’ll do it because I am now convinced it is in the interest of Ardrone. I will take you all the way to this island of Ardhi’s, if that is where Lustgrader is going, and I’ll make sure the Lowmians don’t hunt these confounded birds too.”
Saker gave him a hard look. “You’re not fooling me. Lord Juster Dornbeck is not really doing this for me, or Ardhi, or even for his liege lord.”
Juster gave a bark of laughter. “No. You’re right. Most of the time I’m an easy-going hedonist privateer. But this same privateering captain has cracks in the sweetness of his character. And when they open up, they reveal a man who can, alas, be vengeful. They tried to sink my ship. My beautiful lady!”
Saker was silent.
“I’m doing this because I’m furious. I don’t want to hear anything from a witan about forgiveness and compromise. I’m out for revenge, and I intend to get it.”
26
A Prince, a Prime and a King
Niggled by his worries, Ryce had no interest in the remainder of the hunt. Still, he was pleased with the afternoon’s success: five deer, another boar, several braces of game birds brought down by the archers, and sufficient hares to have exhausted the hounds. Unfortunately, the last kill of the hunt, a fine stag, had led them a merry dance, and the hunt ended later than he’d wanted. They wouldn’t be home until after dark. Still, the last part of the ride would be along the main Throssel road, and the clear skies meant there’d be plenty of moonlight.
They left most of the retainers behind on Beck’s Field to butcher the kill and load the carts. Even the hounds would remain there with the houndmaster until they were rested enough to return the following morning, along with the grooms and the extra horses.
As he set off down the track that led from Beck’s Field to the main Throssel road, Ryce counted those with him: ten huntsmen, courtiers with their attendants numbering about thirty-five all told, and the twenty men of his guard. Everyone was tired, but mostly content. It had been a good hunt: no one seriously hurt, no horses permanently maimed, and a good selection of wild meat for the palace kitchens.
Horntail, as usual, had divided the guards up, half in front, half behind. The cart track was only wide enough for two abreast, and Ryce was happy to ride alongside Lord Anthon Seaforth, an old friend of his.
“Good to see the King so active and in good spirits,” Anthon remarked. “There’s been too little good cheer of late.”
“Too little to be cheerful about,” Ryce said.
“And you with a lovely young wife and an heir? Shame on you!”
He had something he wanted to ask Anthon to do, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to introduce the topic. It’d be pointless to hint. Give him a hunter between his knees and a pack of fellhounds at the kill and Anthon woul
dn’t notice if it rained fish and blueberries.
Ryce decided to be blunt. “I heard yesterday that another shrine was burnt up north in Shenat country.”
Anthon frowned. “Primordials?”
“No, not this time. It was those grey-clad fellows no one knows much about. Some say they’re the agents of Va-faith, but a recent edict from the Pontifect said that’s a lie.”
“Ah, yes. Prelate Masterton read it out loud last chapel day. Something about them actually out to destroy the unity of Va-faith. Reckon that’s true?”
“The Pontifect isn’t reckless with her accusations. If she says they want to destroy belief in the Ways and kill folk with witcheries, then it’s true. There was a hellish row about that edict, though. Fox didn’t want it read.”
“And Conrid Masterton read it anyway? That was brave.”
“Masterton was appointed by the Pontifect, not the Prime. Pox on them, these grey-clad wretches, they are a nasty lot. A horde of thugs wrecking our peace and our unity, and supplanting it with something else, using violence. Three years ago, if you’d told me that was going to happen, I’d have laughed in your face.”
“You aren’t exaggerating, are you, your highness?” Anthon shot him a worried glance. “I mean, most people don’t believe in what this rabble is spouting forth, let alone consider joining them. Your grey horde will end up looking as silly as drunks in a gutter.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
“But it’s all up in Shenat country, on the borders, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
Anthon looked shocked. “Well, I’m sure the King’s Company can take care of it.”
Ryce rolled his eyes. He had little faith in a force of three thousand men led by a handful of impoverished noblemen who regarded the job as a way of getting paid for nothing more than holding a few parades on special occasions.
“What does King Edwayn say?” Anthon asked.
“It’s a religious matter the Prime should settle.”