Red Seas Under Red Skies gb-2

by Scott Lynch 2007

  “For those that take their profit in coin, you’re right. But for Stragos, it means everything. He gambled a ship, a crew of prisoners and his very reputation on Ravelle’s mission. You don’t think he’s serious? He made a laughing stock of himself by allowing a “pirate” to escape from his secure harbours, all so he could wait to redeem himself by crushing us later.” Zamira brought her fists together. “That was Ravelle’s task — convince us, trick us, He to us, bribe us. And if we couldn’t be made to serve, his plan was to do it himself, in the Messenger.”

  “Then our course is obvious,” said Rodanov. “We don’t give Stragos a damn thing. We don’t dance around his noose. We keep five hundred miles between ourselves and Tal Verrar, as we have since the war. If need be, we play meek for a few months.” He reached over and gave Strozzi’s paunch a hearty slap. “We live off our fat.”

  “If we do that much,” said Ydrena Koros, “begging your pardon, Captain. This evidence of yours, Captain Drakasha — the word of these two men sounds thinner than—”

  “Not just their word,” said Zamira, “Think, Koros. They had the Red Messenger. Its crew, the survivors of which are now my crew, did indeed come from the Windward Rock. The Archon sent them, all right.”

  “I concur,” said Colvard, “though I also agree with Jaffrim that standing down from provocation is the wisest—”

  “Would be wisest,” interrupted Zamira, “if Stragos was doing this on a whim. But he’s not, is he? He’s in the fight of his life. His very position is at stake. He needs us.”

  She paced the centre of the pavilion again, reminded of the “arguments” she’d put forth over the years in her pretend turns as a magistrate for initiation rituals. Were these theatrics any more convincing? She hoped to the gods they were.

  “If we tip Ravelle and Valora over the side and ignore them,” she said, “or shy away from Tal Verrar, Stragos will try something else. Some other scheme to trick us into a fight, or to convince his people that we’re bringing one. Only next time, the gods may not see fit to allow the instruments of his design to fall into our hands. We’ll be blind.”

  “There’s more hypothesis here,” said Rodanov, “than just about anything I ever heard at the Collegium.”

  “The Red Messenger and the prisoners do indicate that Stragos took a gamble,” said Colvard. “That he took a gamble indicates that he can’t move openly or with confidence. Knowing what we do of the situation in Tal Verrar… I’d say this threat is real. If Stragos requires an enemy, we are the only suitor at this dance that fits his need. What else can he do? Pick a fight with Balinel? Camorr? Lashain? Karthain? I hardly think so.”

  “What would you have us do, Zamira?” Rodanov folded his arms and scowled. “We possess the means to strike back at the Archon.”

  “We can’t fight the Verrari navy,” said Rodanov. “Nor can we storm the damn city, summon lighting from the sky or ask the gods to politely dispose of Stragos for us. So by what means may we “strike back”? Wound his feelings with vicious letters?”

  “Ravelle and Valora are expected to report directly to him to receive their antidote.” “They have access to him,” said Colvard. “An assassination!” “For which they suffer the blame, assuming they live,” mused Strozzi.

  “Good for them,” said Rodanov. “And what, you wish our consent to take them back to Tal Verrar and let them loose? By all means let fly. I’d be happy to lend them a pair of knives.” “There is, from the perspective of Ravelle and Valora, only one minor complication: that they would prefer to acquire a permanent antidote and then do away with Stragos.” “Alas,” said Ranee, “we so rarely realize our desires in life—”

  “Tell them that we have an antidote,” said Colvard. “Convince them that we have the means to free them from their condition. Then set them loose upon the Archon… whether they survive the assassination or not will be of no consequence.”

  Ezri opened her mouth to disagree, and Zamira fixed her with the most withering glare in her long-practised arsenal.

  “Marvellously devious,” said Zamira, when she was certain that Ezri would mind herself, “but too convenient. In their position, would you ever believe such a claim?”

  “My skull is beginning to spin,” said Strozzi. “What the hell do you wish to do, Zamira?”

  “I wish,” she said, enunciating each word very carefully, “for none of you to be alarmed if I should find it necessary to raise a bit of ruckus in the immediate vicinity of Tal Verrar.”

  “And thereby call down our destruction,” shouted Rodanov. “Do you want to see Port Prodigal sacked like Montierre? Do you want to see us scattered halfway across the world, and our unguarded trade routes filled with angry Verrari warships?” “If I do anything,” said Zamira, “discretion would be—”

  “Impossible,” growled Rodanov. “This will finish the job Stragos began when he crushed the Free Armada. This will destroy our way of fife!”

  “Or preserve it.” Zamira put her hands on her hips. “If Stragos is determined to push us, he will push us whether we would dance to his tune or no. I have aboard my ship our means, our only means, of taking the fight to him. If Stragos is knocked aside, the Archonate falls with him. And if the Priori rule Tal Verrar, we can loot this sea at our own merry pace until the day we die.”

  “Why,” said Strozzi, “would you want to play along with the Archon’s design, even with… discretion?”

  “Ravelle and Valora aren’t saints,” said Zamira. “They” re not looking to throw their fives away for our benefit. They want to live, and to do that they need time. If Stragos believes they’re hard at work on his behalf, he’ll grant them the weeks or months necessary to find a solution. And in the meantime, he’s likely to stay his other plans.”

  “Those weeks and months may instead be time enough for him to rouse his city,” said Rodanov.

  “You must trust me to be delicate,” said Zamira. “As brother and sister captains, that’s what I’m asking in the end. No matter what you hear from Tal Verrar — trust my judgement.” “A significant request,” said Colvard. “You ask no aid from any of us?”

  “I can’t think of anything that would be more counterproductive than for all of us to show up one morning off Tal Verrar, can you? The Archon would have his war in about ten minutes. So leave this task to me. A risk to my ship alone.”

  “A risk to us all,” said Rodanov. “You’re asking us to put our fates, and that of Port Prodigal, in your hands. Without any oversight.”

  “How has it been otherwise, these past seven years?” She stared around the circle at each captain in turn. “Each of us has always been at the mercy of the others. Any one of us could have raided too far north, attacked a ship carrying someone’s royal cousin, murdered too many sailors or simply grown too greedy to ignore. We’ve been in peril all the way. I’m merely doing you the courtesy of pointing it out in advance for once.” “And if you fail?” asked Ranee.

  “If I fail,” said Zamira, “there’ll be no penalty for you to levy. I’ll already be dead.”

  “Our oaths of non-interference,” said Colvard. “That’s whatyou want, isn’t it? A promise to keep our swords in their scabbards while you throw the most important rule of our… association out through your stern window.”

  “In lieu of any better alternatives,” said Zamira, “yes. That’s exactly what I’m asking for.”

  “And if we say no?” Rodanov spoke quietly. “If we, four against one, forbid this?”

  “Then we come to a line that we all fear to cross,” said Zamira, matching his stare.

  “/ won’t forbid it,” said Ranee. “I’ll vow to keep my hands off you, Zamira. If you sweat for my gain, so much the better. And if you die in the process, I’ll mourn you not.”

  “I’ll give my oath as well,” said Colvard. “Zamira” s right. Our collective safety at any given time depends on whichever one of us is the bloody craziest. If there’s a chance to kick Maxilan off his pedestal, I pray for your succ
ess.”

  “Obviously Zamira Drakasha votes with Zamira Drakasha,” Zamira said, turning her gaze to Rodanov and Strozzi.

  “I don’t like any of this,” said Strozzi. “But if things go to shit, no ship afloat on this sea can run like my Osprey.” He smiled and cracked his knuckles. “What the hell. You wave your skirt at the Archon and see if he’s up for a fondle. I won’t be anywhere near it.”

  “It appears,” said Rodanov once all eyes had turned to him, “that I have the opportunity to be … unsociable.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t think any of this is wise — but if I may take your promise of discretion to be as binding as my oath of non-interference… very well. Go spring this insane scheme.”

  “Thank you,” said Zamira, feeling a warm flush of relief from head to toe. “Wasn’t that easier than cutting one another to pieces?”

  “This needs to stay between us,” said Colvard. “I don’t ask for an oath, I expect it. Stragos may have other eyes and ears in Prodigal. If this gets out to anyone not standing here, the time we’ve spent at this meeting — not to mention Zamira’s mission — will be an utter waste.” “Right,” said Strozzi. “Silence. All gods as our witness.” “All gods as our witness,” the others echoed. “Will you leave immediately?” asked Colvard.

  “My crew needs a night ashore. I can’t ask them back out without that much. I’ll send them in halves, sell off the rest of my swag as fast as I can. Clear the harbour in two or three days.” “Three weeks to Tal Verrar,” said Rodanov.

  “Right,” said Zamira. “No point in any of this if our lads drop dead en route. I intend to be hasty.” She stepped up to Rodanov, put one hand on his right check and stood on her toes to kiss his left. “Jaffrim, have I ever let you down?”

  “Never since the war,” said Rodanov. “Ah, shit. Even that was a poor thing to say. Don’t put me on the spot like this, Zamira. Just… don’t fuck this up.” “Hey,” said Colvard, “how can I get some of that attention?”

  “I’m feeling generous, but keep your hands to yourself if you prefer to keep them attached.” She smiled, kissed Colvard in the middle of her wrinkled forehead and gave the old woman a hug. Gingerly, because it took pains to accommodate all the swords and daggers the two of them were wearing. Always thus, thought Zamira. Always thus in this life.

  3

  Utgar was the one waiting at the entry port to offer a hand when Zamira and Ezri went back up the side of the Poison Orchid. It was half-past the tenth hour of the evening. “Welcome back, Captain. How you be?”

  “I” ve spent the day arguing with the Shipbreaker and the council of captains,” Zamira muttered. “I require my children and I require a drink. Ezri—” “Yes?” “You, Ravelle, Valora. My cabin, immediately.”

  Once in her cabin, Zamira threw her coat, sabres, Elderglass vest and hat haphazardly onto her hammock. She settled onto her favourite chair with a groan and welcomed Paolo and Cosetta onto her lap. She lost herself in the familiar smell of their curly dark hair, and gazed with absolute satisfaction at their little fingers as she caught them in her own rough hands. Cosetta” s, still so tiny and uncertain… Paolo” s, growing longer and more dextrous by the week. Gods, they were growing too fast, too fast.

  Their familiar chatter calmed her to the marrow; apparently, Paolo had spent the afternoon fighting monsters that lived in one of her sea-chests, while Cosetta now had plans to grow up to be King of the Seven Marrows. Zamira briefly considered explaining the difference between a king and a queen, and deemed it not worth the effort; contradicting Cos would only lead to days of circular argument.

  “Be king! Seven Marers!” the little girl said, and Zamira nodded solemnly.

  “Remember your poor family when you come into your kingdom, darling.”

  The door opened and Ezri appeared with Kosta and Valora… or should that be de Ferra? Damn these layered aliases.

  “Lock the door,” said Zamira. “Paolo, fetch Mummy four glasses. Ezri, can you do the business on one of those bottles of Lashani Blue? They” re right behind you.”

  Paolo, overawed at his responsibility, set four small tumblers out on the lacquered table atop the sea-chests. Kosta and de Ferra found seats on floor-cushions, and Ezri made quick work of the waxed cork sealing the bottle. The smell of fresh lemons pervaded the cabin, and Ezri filled each tumbler to the brim with wine the colour of the ocean depths.

  “Alas, I’m bereft of toasts,” said Zamira. “Sometimes one merely needs a drink. Have at it.” Holding Cos with her left arm, Zamira downed her wine in one go, relishing the mingled tastes of spice and citrus, feeling the prickles of icy heat slide down her throat. “Want,” said Cosetta. “This is a Mummy drink, Cos, and you wouldn’t like its taste.” “Want!”

  “I said— Oh, very well. Can’t fear the fire if you don’t scald your fingertips.” She poured the merest dash of the blue wine into her tumbler and handed it carefully to Cos. The girl took it up with an expression of the utmost solemnity, tipped its contents back into her mouth and then dropped it on the tabletop with a clatter. “Like PISS,” she hollered, shaking her head.

  “There are some drawbacks,” said Zamira as she caught the tumbler before it went over the edge, “to raising children among sailors. But then I myself am no doubt making the largest contribution to her vocabulary.”

  “PIIIISSSSS,” yelled Cosetta, giggling and immensely pleased with herself. Zamira shushed her.

  “I have a toast,” said Kosta, smirking and raising his glass. “To clear perception. I have just now, after all these weeks, realized who the real captain of this vessel is.”

  De Ferra chuckled and clinked tumblers with him. Ezri, however, left her wine untouched on the table before her and stared down at her hands. Zamira resolved to make this quick; Ezri clearly needed to be alone with Jerome.

  “It’s like this, Ravelle,” said Zamira. “I didn’t know I’d be arguing for your plan until I found myself doing so.” “So you’re taking us—”

  “Back to Tal Verrar. Yes.” She poured herself another tumbler of wine and took a more conservative sip. “I” ve convinced the council not to panic if stories come down from the north concerning the mischief we’re about to work.” “Thank you, Captain. I—”

  “Don’t thank me with words, Ravelle.” Zamira sipped her wine again and set the tumbler down. “Thank me by keeping your side of the bargain. Find a way to kill Maxilan Stragos.” “Yes.”

  “Let me make something else clear.” Zamira carefully turned Cosetta in her arms so that the little girl was looking out across the table, straight at Kosta. “Everyone aboard this ship will be risking their life to give you your chance at this scheme. Every single person.” “I… I understand.”

  “If time passes, and we can’t find a solution for what Stragos has done to you… well, your access to him can’t last for ever. I’ll do everything in my power to help you before it comes to that. But if there’s no other alternative, if time runs out and the only way you can take him down is to sacrifice yourself — I won’t expect to see you again, do you understand?”

  “If it comes to that,” said Kosta, “I’ll drag him to the judgement of the gods with my bare hands. We’ll go together.” “Gods,” said Cosetta. “Bare hands!”

  “Piss!” shouted Kosta, hoisting his tumbler toward Cosetta, who nearly came apart at the joints with the resulting fit of giggles.

  “Thank you, Ravelle, for this gift of a daughter who will now be up all night repeating that word—” “Sorry, Captain. So, when do we leave?”

  “Half the crew goes ashore tonight, and the other half tomorrow. We’ll be scraping them up in heaps the day after, those that want to stay with us. Hopefully we can be rid of our swag tomorrow. So… two days. Two and a half, maybe. Then we’ll see how the Orchid flies.” “Thanks, Captain.”

  “And that’s all,” Zamira said. “My children are up too late, and I intend to claim the privilege of snoring as loudly as I wish once you’re all out of my cabin
.”

  Kosta was the first to take the hint, draining his glass and leaping to his feet. De Ferra followed and was about to leave when Ezri spoke in a quiet voice: “Jerome. May I see you in my cabin? Just for a few minutes?”

  “A few minutes?” De Ferra grinned. “Tsk, Ezri, when did you become such a pessimist?”

  “Now,” she said, wiping the smile from his face. Chagrined, he helped her to her feet.

  A moment later, the door the her cabin clicked shut, leaving Zamira alone with her family in one of the quiet interludes that were so damnably rare. For a few brief moments every night, she could imagine that her ship was travelling neither to nor from danger, and she could imagine herself more mother than captain, alone with the ordinary concerns of her children-

  “Mummy,” said Paolo without any warning, “I want to learn how to fight with a sword.”

  Zamira couldn’t help herself; she stared at him for several seconds, and then cracked up laughing. Ordinary? Gods, how could any child born to this life be anything resembling ordinary?

  “Sword,” hollered Cosetta, possible future King of the Seven Marrows. “Sword! Sword!”

  4

  “Ezri, I—”

  He saw the slap coming but it never occurred to him for an instant to try to prevent the blow from landing. She put all of her muscle into it, which was saying something, and tears blurred Jean’s vision. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Tell you—”

  She was sobbing now, but her next punch landed on his right arm with undiminished force. “Ow,” he said. “What? What?” ” Why didn “tyou tell me?”

  It was almost a shout; he spread his hands to catch her fists. A punch from her to the ribs or solar plexus and he’d feel it for hours.

  “Ezri, please. Tell you what?” He knelt on the narrow floor of her compartment, kissing her fingertips while she tried to yank her hands back. At last he let her, and knelt before her, arms lowered.

  “Ezri, if you need to hit me, then by the gods hit me. If that’s what you need, I won’t fight you for a second. Not ever. Just… tell me what you want.”