by B. J. Beach
Dhoum listened while Karryl grumbled. “I’m sure this is totally unnecessary. I could have been home by now and getting on with some work. If I’d never translocated before I could understand it, but this is taking caution too far.”
Dhoum gave a non-committal sort of snuffling grunt, but decided this was one of those occasions when it was best to say nothing. He was inclined to agree with Lady Evalin on this particular matter. From a small cuddy further down the deck, the unmistakeable sounds of some of the crew playing battle-stones reached their ears.
Giving Karryl’s elbow a gentle nudge, Dhoum gestured towards the cuddy. “Fancy a game? It’ll help pass the time.”
Karryl glanced along the deck, then back at Dhoum. “Not really. Thanks anyway. Strange as it may sound, watching the water helps me think, and I’ve got a lot of that to do.”
Dhoum stepped back from the rail, dropped back onto four legs and ambled silent and sure-footed along the deck towards the cuddy.
Karryl called after him. “Don’t let them lose too much. I don’t fancy having to haul all that dripping wet fur out of the water.”
The Grrybhñnös swivelled his head and looked back at him. “Any basic levitation spell will do it.”
Less than an hour later Dhoum and one of the crew emerged from the cuddy and hurried along the deck. They stopped beside Karryl and Dhoum looked up. “This is Bunch, the cook. We’re just going to get some snacks from the galley. D’you fancy anything?”
Karryl didn’t waste time thinking. He grinned. “That sounds like a very good idea. Anything’ll do as long as it’s not salt pork.”
Bunch’s gruff good-natured voice assured him. “None of that on board Master Karryl, but why don’t you come down with us and choose what you want? No complaints then, are there?” Nodding his agreement, Karryl followed Bunch and Dhoum down to the galley.
A full plate in his hands, Karryl stopped at the end of the narrow companionway which led to the accommodation. “I think I’ll take this to my cabin. What about you Dhoum?”
The Grrybhñnös indicated the small basket he was carrying. “I’ve got mine and a couple of others’ in here. Anyway, I’m not going to leave while I’m winning.”
Bunch gave him a hefty pat on his broad shoulder. “Not for long my friend. New-comer’s luck, that’s all.”
Karryl watched them as, both chuckling, they clambered up to the deck, before heading to his cabin and carefully closing the door behind him.
It was well after midnight when Dhoum crept quietly up to Karryl’s door. He stood outside for a while, listening. After a quick glance round he grasped the knob and gently eased the door open. The light of the moon, now riding low in the sky, shone through the port-hole and fell on the unmoving humps and shapes of a sleeping form. An almost empty plate lay pushed to one side of the small table. Satisfied all was well, Dhoum pulled the door to, opened the one next to it and entered his own much smaller cabin. He hauled the mattress off the bunk, laid it on the floor and trampled it a few times. Curled up in the middle like a huge dog, he settled down to sleep.
38 - Shipwrecked
Promising to keep the others advised of any developments, Symon made his farewells and left the bustle of Evalin’s palace for the comparative peace and quiet of the apartment in Vellethen. He needed space and time to think. He would have liked to have stayed longer, but with Karryl and Dhoum already on their way back aboard the ‘Sea Mist’, he felt it only right that he should get the apartment in order.
As Symon made preparations for their return, Karryl and Dhoum leaned on ‘Sea Mist’s’ rail, gazing out over the unusually calm water. Even Captain Finn had commented on it.
Giving Dhoum a sidelong glance, Karryl chuckled. “Reminds me of how the ocean looked when we were on that beach at Thermera.”
Dhoum nodded and rubbed thoughtfully at his muzzle. “Yes, and look what happened then.”
Karryl turned and gave his hairy companion a long flat look. “You don’t mean…?”
It was Dhoum’s turn to give one of his deep rumbling chuckles. He pointed a scaly finger towards a large, low, flat based grey cloud roiling steadily towards them, darkening the ocean beneath. “No. I think that might have something to do with it though.”
Tight with concern, Captain Finn’s voice called from further along the deck. “Best get below, gentlemen. Looks like we’re in for a squall.”
His words fell unheeded as his passengers continued to gaze in fascination at the louring cloud moving rapidly closer. Less than a mile from the ship, and without any warning, the dark calm water beneath the cloud began to swirl. Running feet pounded the deck as a funnel of water spiralled up from the surface to form a circular shroud some three hundred feet wide and two hundred high. Wrapped tightly round the centre of the dark turbulent waters beneath the cloud, a broad vortex was spinning across the ocean towards them, bringing with it a howling roaring wind. With only seconds in which to act, Karryl yelled something at Dhoum. The pair stumbled frantically across the heeling deck and braced their backs against the mast. Arms high, they jointly inscribed a large encompassing circle as a length of rope flew through the air and lashed them securely to the tree. Caught beam on, the small wooden ship spun from the surface of the dark whirling water to be tossed like a child’s toy boat into the mercy of the furiously gyrating column. Topgallants thrashed and pennants shredded like paper in the relentless shrieking wind. The higher spars cracked and groaned in protest, straining at the yards as the masthead and crow’s nest whipped back and forth in the wind-lashed downpour.
Coils of rope, belaying pins, canvas and boxes rolled and clattered around the overwhelmed decks, bouncing off stanchions or tumbling end over end, from lee to windward and back again. As the ship crashed down into the turbulent waves to spin on its keel like a whipping top, Captain Finn and his terrified crew clung grimly to whatever offered hope. No longer able to withstand the onslaught, the little ship heeled over. Like a giant hand a massive force thrust it and those aboard down into the dark green depths. Beneath its massive swath of grey deep cloud, the speeding funnel hurtled on, trailing a broad wake of telltale debris and agitated water. Seconds later and some ten miles from shore, the destructive spout collapsed on itself in a broad crown of sparkling droplets. Sunlight once again danced across the ocean’s disturbed and empty surface.
* * *
Symon woke with a start. A few coals glowed feebly in the middle of the grate, failing miserably in their efforts to dispel the chill of dawn. Stiff jointed and muzzy headed, the little magician pushed himself out of his chair and hurried to Karryl’s room. The sight of the undisturbed bed answered his question. The young Mage-Prime had not yet returned. Taking a few moments to change his crumpled robe, Symon headed for the kitchen. From the shelf he took the deep, black-glazed bowl, placed it on the table and filled it almost to the brim. As soon as the surface had settled he folded his hands, leaned forward and gazed into the cold clear water. He saw sky, he saw sea, he saw seagulls, and a dark amorphous form which appeared to spin and swirl but failed to resolve into anything recognisable. Dissatisfied and perplexed, he marred the surface, emptied the bowl and refilled it. He repeated the process. The only difference was, this time there was no dark shape to frustrate his vision. Keeping his gaze fixed on the surface of the water he focussed his whole attention on Karryl, excluding Dhoum or any image of the ship on which he had last seen him. The dark shape reappeared, seeming to tumble slowly end over end as it drifted across the scrying, before fading away to be replaced by the featureless ocean. Uncertain what it could mean, or whether it even meant anything at all, Symon emptied the bowl, dried it and returned it to the shelf.
After making himself comfortable and presentable, he set off on the long walk to the harbour, hoping he would meet Karryl along the way. Half an hour later, he stood gazing in despair at the dozen or more ships berthed or lying off at anchor. None was the ship from Arinel. Catching sight of the Harbour Master talking to a captain far down th
e quayside, Symon hurried towards them. He stopped, puffing with frustration as the two men stepped onto a gang-plank and disappeared aboard before he could reach them. Turning slowly he scanned the harbour again, looking at each ship in the vain hope he had not noticed ‘Sea Mist’ the first time. There was not even another ship flying Arinel’s colours, where he might have been able to gather some news. Disquiet sat heavily on the magician’s shoulders. Hands pushed inside his sleeves, he walked slowly back along the dock, eyes to the ground as he considered his next plan of action. He was reluctant to simply await developments. Arriving at a decision, a little smile of satisfaction crossed his face as he set up a brisk pace until he was outside the harbour gates. Checking that he was unobserved, he stepped into a narrow alleyway.
Emerging in a secluded alcove not far from the royal apartments, Symon stepped out just in time to catch sight of Jobling. Grateful for his good fortune, the little magician scurried after him, catching up at the end of the corridor leading to the Great Hall.
Slightly out of breath, he turned troubled grey eyes up to the kindly face of the major-domo. “Thank goodness! I was hoping I’d find you.”
Jobling gave a small but respectful bow. “How may I be of assistance Master Symon?”
Unable to disguise his agitation, Symon clasped his hands together, the notion that he might just be making a mountain out of a molehill briefly crossing his mind. “I really do need to see Vailin at the earliest opportunity, on a matter of the greatest importance.”
To his undisguised relief, Jobling gestured down the corridor. “His Majesty is presently in the robing-room, preparing for the weekly petitioners. If you would wait in the ante-room…” The rest of the sentence remained unspoken as he found himself addressing empty air.
The indignant stares of two gentlemen-in-waiting followed Symon, as he took a deep breath and bowed low before his monarch.
There was a note of amused tolerance in Vailin’s voice. “Good morning Master Symon. You have made my day, even before it has barely begun.”
Slowly, his court magician straightened up. At a nod from Vailin the two gentlemen strutted to the far end of the room, out of earshot but still close enough to command. Symon imagined them wincing as Vailin divested himself of the heavy fur-trimmed crimson robe and let it fall on the carpeted floor. An eyebrow raised in query, the royal mouth twitched to acknowledge Symon’s barely perceptible nod. A ward of silence surrounded them.
The young monarch leaned back in his upholstered chair, crossed his legs at the ankles and gave his magician a wry smile, a note of mild reprimand in his voice. “It must be a matter of some moment, if you of all people have chosen to dispense with the mores of etiquette.” He leaned forward and looked Symon in the eye. “Make it fast and make it good. I have need of an excellent excuse to postpone these dratted petitioners.”
Symon came straight to the point. “Neither Master Karryl nor Dhoum have returned from Arinel. Their ship was due in harbour yesterday, but appears not to have docked. I request a ship be sent out to sail a reverse course in case something has happened.”
“Would I be correct in thinking you have already performed a scrying?”
Symon gave an emphatic nod. “I saw nothing of note, although a vague dark shape caused me a few moments of concern. It may have merely been a cloud.”
Vailin grimaced. “Let’s not make that assumption too quickly.”
The young king stood and crossed the room, tugged on a broad, elaborately woven bell-pull, then stood staring defiantly at his gentlemen who were obviously reaching some state of agitation. All eyes turned to the small side door as Jobling quietly entered.
Vailin perched himself on the edge of his chair, elbows on knees. “Will you have Jack Parry found for me, Jobling? As quickly as you can; and postpone petitions until after lunch. Those marked for this afternoon will have to come back next week.”
His expression inscrutable, Jobling gave a little nod. “I will have refreshments brought to your office sire. It pains me to admit that I am presently unaware of Master Parry’s exact whereabouts, although I believe him to be somewhere in the city.”
Vailin leaned back in his chair, his dark brows gathered in a frown. “Take whoever you need Jobling, but find him. We’ll wait in my office…” he gave a wry smile…”as you so thoughtfully suggested.”
Jobling bowed out, and Vailin apologised to his two ageing retainers, asking them to return after lunch. As the door closed behind them, Vailin strode to the far end of the room.
Lifting the edge of a large tapestry, he gave Symon a boyish grin and beckoned him forward. “We’ll go this way. I found it one miserable wet day when I was a very bored young prince. I don’t think even father knew about it.”
Symon’s muttered reply was barely audible. “He wasn’t alone.”
Reaching across to a small rose carved into the buff-coloured stone, Vailin pushed two fingers against the centre. With a soft sigh a narrow section of the wall swung inwards and the young monarch sidled through. Rather more portly, Symon held in his stomach and, performing a sideways shuffle, joined Vailin in the dark confines beyond. With a gentle push from Vailin, the narrow slab of stone swung quietly into the gap.
Symon snapped his fingers. “That was smooth.”
Vailin replied in a conspiratorial whisper. “Yes. Jobling maintains the mechanism once a week. It’s our little secret. It could prove very useful.”
A soft glow pushed back the darkness as Symon raised his hand, palm upwards. “Where does it lead?”
Vailin began to lead the way along the musty, rough-hewn passageway. “Just along here it forks in a ‘Y’. The left arm leads to the throne room, and the right one is a very handy shortcut to my office. I use it a lot more than you might imagine. “
Symon chuckled. “Don’t you believe it.”
39 - Search...
The dark sleek shape moved swiftly through green depths, keen eyes searching caves and crevices. An occasional stream of fine air bubbles marked its passing as it swam with a lithe and sinuous grace which belied its bulk. Speeding to the sunlit surface, the creature gulped air before plunging deep once more, down through pressures no human and few normal creatures could tolerate, constantly watching for the distinctive shape which would signify the end of its long and exhaustive search. Previous searches had been successful, but it wasn’t over yet. The ultimate prize was still proving elusive. Rising effortlessly over the pinnacle of a submarine mountain, it soared and glided over the urchin encrusted, anemone populated ridge. Tentacles waving in the filtered sunlight, these stationary scavengers sifted food particles from the constantly moving water. A large sea urchin was wrenched from its rocky anchor and crunched in strong jaws, the succulent meat separated between sharp, backward facing teeth. Shards of spiny shell drifted down to the ocean floor as the creature swallowed its snack and continued to search. Alerted by a small school of circling sharks, a powerful kick of its muscular rear limbs sent the creature shearing towards them through the dark water. Warned off by a unique series of high-pitched barks and squeals, the sharks drifted reluctantly away. They remained watchful as the creature spiralled down to a narrow outcrop over-hanging the cold infinite blackness of a yawning chasm. Its search was ended.
* * *
Leaning over the ship’s rail, Jack Parry gazed out towards the horizon as he waited for the tide. Even if Symon had recognised him at the docks earlier that morning, it would have made little difference. By fortunate coincidence, Jack just happened to be where his king wanted him to be. The problem was nobody, including Jack, knew that. It was Master Gibb, delegated with a dozen other members of trusted palace staff to search the city, who found him. After making fruitless enquiries on three ships all set to sail, it was on the fourth and final vessel that he met with success.
Standing on the dockside, he cupped his hands and hollered up to a man, obviously the captain, who paced the deck, keeping a watchful eye as the tide reached optimum. “Excuse me captain
.”
The captain’s strong voice acknowledged. “Below?”
“Are you aware of the whereabouts of Jack Parry?”
Glancing about him, the captain beckoned Master Gibb aboard. Keeping his voice low, he placed a hand firmly on Gibb’s shoulder. “I’m glad you didn’t recognise me Master Gibb. It could have upset my plans.”
Peering closely at the weathered and bearded face, Gibb concealed his surprise with a wry grimace. “I’m about to do that anyway. By royal command, your presence is required at the palace immediately. There’s a whole platoon of palace staff out looking for you”
Jack clenched his fists. “Damn, blast and set sail to it!” He eyed Gibb’s slender build. “Can you run Master Gibb?”
The royal secretary grinned. “As well as you I’ll wager. Race you to His Majesty’s office.”
Yelling at Aemus the bo’sun to get under way, Jack hurtled down the gang-plank after Gibb, under the astonished gaze of the ship’s crew. A little over ten minutes later Jack arrived outside Vailin’s office door, much to the consternation of the young guard who blinked furiously and presented his halberd against attack.
Hands on knees and gasping for breath, Jack looked up and grinned as Gibb pounded up the corridor to lean heavily on the wall beside him. “Well done, Master Gibb. Would you…whew…inform His Majesty that I’m here?”
Wordlessly, Gibb nodded, drew a deep breath, and with a reassuring gesture to the mystified guard, knocked on the door and entered.