Scimitar Sun

by Chris A. Jackson

  “Thank you, Captain Altan. I will relate to the emperor your excellent performance on this excursion,” he said as the gangplank touched the Fire Drake’s bulwarks. He accepted his hefty satchel from his secretary. “Have my things sent to my townhouse, Huffington. I’ll be going directly to the palace. I might be able to get an audience today.”

  “Very well, sir,” his secretary said with a short bow before turning and vanishing down the companionway. The captain merely tipped his peaked hat in acknowledgement and continued giving orders to his crew, paying his guest little attention.

  Military types…Norris thought as he descended the steps to the main deck and across the boarding platform to the dock. Like most menials, they never show proper respect! He boarded the waiting carriage, ignoring the servant who snapped the door open, and seated himself with the heavy satchel — his prize — on his lap. “To the palace immediately, driver! And don’t spare the whip!”

  The driver’s crop snapped, and the carriage clattered away toward the lofty spires of the imperial palace of Tsing.

  ≈

  “There’s no doubt the woman’s a menace,” Sam said, cooling herself with a lacy fan and sipping her tea. The hot afternoon and the hotter tea had her sweating — memories of airless summer nights sleepless on a netting-draped canopy bed flitted through her mind — but the young courtier she’d tricked into buying her a cup for the pleasure of her company didn’t seem to mind. His attention was fully focused upon the neckline of her bodice. She hoped his ears were as attentive as his eyes. “She’s taken over that pirate lord’s fortress, you know. She did away with him with a flick of her hand.”

  “Did she?” he said, one manicured hand lifting his cup, his little finger pointing straight out. The movement summoned another memory — a governess’ etiquette lessons — and she immediately knew she’d been holding her own hand improperly.

  “That’s what the captain of one of her very own ships told me.” She corrected her grip and sipped again. “We stopped at that island of hers on our way through the Shattered Islands. Oh, it’s a frightening place! We delivered some barrels of something she uses in her magic. They said that her ships, those schooners of hers, are all armed with these frightful catapults that can burn a ship or a whole city with a single shot!”

  “That is frightful,” he agreed, one eyebrow arching at her claim. “They say she’s quite beautiful, this Seamage of the Shattered Isles.”

  “I suppose so, if you like that sort, though I would imagine the sea would leave her awfully wrinkly.” He laughed obligingly at her weak witticism. “She’s certainly wealthy enough, I can tell you that. Bloodwind had amassed a fortune to rival an emperor’s, and she’s using every bit of it to build even more ships! It’s a wonder she doesn’t have a shipload of suitors arriving every day.”

  “Ha! I might be tempted to make her an offer myself, but sea voyages don’t agree with my digestion.” He shook a lace handkerchief from a pocket and dabbed his upper lip, then his forehead.

  “Oh, I know what you mean; all that rolling about, sailors shouting nautical nonsense at all hours of the day and night.” She fanned herself again and sighed deeply. “I daresay this afternoon heat is oppressive. Is there someplace we might go that is more…shaded?” It really wasn’t that hot by the standards she was used to, and they were already lounging under a frilly umbrella in front of the teahouse, but it was airless, and the unaccustomed stricture of the corset she was wearing had her gasping for breath. Besides, the excuse might move them to someplace more conducive to spreading gossip.

  “I generally take my ease in the afternoon. It’s usually too hot for any activity short of sipping an iced drink or playing a hand of Pass the Knight.”

  “Oh, do you play cards? I would love to learn how to play!” She had no interest whatsoever in cards, of course, but it would be a perfect opportunity to meet others of his ilk.

  “I’d be delighted to teach you, Miss Samantha. My favorite gaming room is just four blocks up the hill.” He rose and offered her his arm, bowing just enough to be polite — and to inspect her cleavage.

  “Oh, that would be lovely!” She rose and accepted his support, stumbling in a way that pressed her breast against his shoulder. “Oh! Excuse me. I’m a bit dizzy with the heat.”

  “Perhaps I should summon a carriage.” He raised a hand and let out a piercing whistle, and a nearby hackney pulled over to them. “I’ll have you indoors with a cool beverage in your hand in a trice, lady.”

  “Thank you ever so much, Lord Garrett. You’re the perfect gentleman.” She let him help her board the carriage, forcing herself not to flinch when his hand brushed her flank. She turned and smiled at him as she took her seat.

  “Oh, come now, lady,” he said with a wry grin as he joined her. “Nobody’s perfect.”

  ≈

  “His Grace, Count Emil Norris, Your Majesty,” the herald bowed.

  “Your Majesty.” The harried count bent to one knee, one hand clenched over his heart while the other clutched his satchel. “Thank you for granting me an audience at such short notice.”

  “Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, Emil.” Emperor Tynean Tsing III brushed away his tailor’s fussing hands and turned to examine his reflection in the mirror. “We have about a quarter hour before Our next appointment, so give Us the jist of your report and We will read the rest when We have a moment.” He turned to his tailor and nodded. “That will do nicely, Mikael. See that the princes’ dress uniforms are prepared for this evening.”

  The tailor collected his accoutrements, bowed and backed out of the royal presence as Count Norris rose. Two valets approached and removed the emperor’s altered dress coat while the sovereign stood with long-practiced patience. The ever-present royal bodyguard, Lady von Camwynn, stood silently nearby, her arms folded, one palm resting on the hilt of the katana that never left her side. Norris shuddered, remembering the story of that particular blade and its origin.

  “Your Majesty, the seamage was away from her stronghold on an excursion to Southaven, and I did not have the opportunity to speak with her personally.”

  “That is unfortunate, Emil. Did you get any information about those ships of hers?” The emperor’s brow wrinkled in thought. “Stronghold, did you say?”

  The count shrugged. “I know not what else to call a fortified and defensible keep surrounded by a cordon of dangerous coral and defended by a fanatic army of half-naked savages, Majesty.”

  “Well, it used to be a pirate stronghold, so We can imagine that it is formidable, but We had not heard that the seamage possessed an army. We know that a number of natives had followed her from their home to Plume Isle, but you say they were armed?”

  “A great number of natives, Majesty, and they are well armed, women and men alike.” He patted the thick satchel at his side. “And while I did not meet with the seamage and was unable to secure an agreement regarding the schooner designs, I did converse at length with her personal assistant, and made some discoveries that I think Your Majesty will find quite enlightening.” He delved into his satchel, but froze at the metallic hiss of a blade being drawn.

  “Have a care, Count Norris,” Lady von Camwynn warned. She had moved between him and the emperor with startling swiftness, the dark blade held before her in an easy two-handed grip.

  “I assure you, good paladin,” he said, his eyes drawn to the blade’s dark luster. He would be dead in an instant if he made a single threatening move. “There is naught but paper in this satchel. See for yourself.”

  He moved very slowly, holding it open for her to see. He understood her caution; her sole duty was to protect the emperor’s life, a duty about which she was deadly serious. The only attempt she had failed to intercept had taken the life of the empress, Clairissa, and though Lady von Camwynn was not responsible, that failure weighed heavy on her.

  The tip of the paladin’s blade explored the interior of the satchel, and then whispered back i
nto its scabbard. She stepped aside and nodded to the emperor, who had stood motionless and emotionless throughout the exchange. The emperor was not about to quibble if a lesser noble was foolish enough to get himself killed by the royal bodyguard.

  “This,” the count continued, stepping forward and withdrawing the stolen prototype plans from his bag, “is, I believe, something that could pose a significant threat to the empire, Your Majesty.” He flattened the parchment on a nearby table, then backed away a few respectful steps as the emperor approached it.

  “What manner of vessel is this?” The emperor’s fingers brushed the fine parchment, his eyes fixed on the intricate design.

  “I am not entirely sure, but it is very nearly finished.” The emperor’s eyebrows shot up, and Norris had to force himself not to smile. “I questioned the purpose of such a radical design, but received only ambiguous claims that it was an experimental prototype, a variant of a smaller design that Mistress Flaxal found interesting and wished to develop to satisfy her own curiosity.”

  “How large is it?” the emperor asked.

  “Over eighty feet, Majesty,” Norris said, pointing to the numbers along the legend that indicated the scale of the drawing. “But it is more than thirty feet wide, and the two-hull design gives it a lateral stability unprecedented in single-hulled craft.”

  “Lateral stability? You mean it won’t heel under sail, correct?”

  “Quite correct, Majesty, which would make it a very stable platform from which to fire weaponry.”

  “Are you suggesting that this is some type of warship, Count Norris?”

  “I am not a nautical architect, Majesty, and my suppositions are simply based on my observations.” He unrolled the second parchment, a full rendering of the ship’s rigging under full sail. “I might suggest that Your Majesty’s royal naval architect inspect these plans and render an opinion. We do know that the seamage employed catapults and incendiary missiles in the assault on Bloodwind’s stronghold, effectively decimating a heavily armed fleet of corsairs. And in my humble opinion, such a craft as this, equipped with these fire-throwing devices, could be manned by her force of natives and employed as an armed blockade of the Shattered Isles, or…” he paused and scowled, lowering his voice, “an assault force.”

  There was a knock on the door, and the emperor’s secretary entered without preamble.

  “Majesty, it is time for the audience with Fengotherond’s Minister of Trade.” He bowed low over the appointment book that never left his hand. “Tea has been arranged upon the south lawn.”

  “Very good, Moushi. We will be right along.” The emperor shrugged into the dress jacket his valets held for him, and let them fasten the cuffs and buttons to their satisfaction while he spoke. “You have a formal report, We assume.”

  “Right here, Majesty,” Norris replied, retrieving a bound scroll from his bag. “Complete with diagrams of the seamage’s stronghold and the approaches through the reef.”

  “Excellent. Please leave it with Us. We will look at it, and consult Admiral Joslan and Our naval architects.” He waved a hand, indicating that Norris was dismissed. “You have done well, Emil. We thank you.”

  “I live to serve, Your Majesty,” he said, backing out of the chamber. He could not hold back his satisfied smile as he wound his way out of the palace. The meeting had gone even better than he had planned. Regardless of Huffington’s appeal for subtlety, he knew the seamage was up to something; how could she not be, after what he had seen? The threat of the Shattered Isles had not died with Bloodwind, and it was imperative that the emperor recognize it.

  ≈

  *So, the result of this meeting with the landwalker emissary, who did not even acknowledge the existence of the mer — let alone their incursion into our territory — was that they will send another emissary, probably in another warship!* Redtail thrashed his tail, propelling himself in a tight circle.

  *The seamage did seem upset when she arrived,* Shellbreaker signed, eliciting a nod from his fellow sentry, Finwag.

  *Her temper was short with us,* the smaller mer agreed. *We were only doing our duty, and she became angry, telling us she did not need our help.*

  *And why would the all-powerful seamage need our help?* Redtail signed. His color shifted, displaying his ire. *She will not even tell the landwalkers not to anchor their warships in our territory.*

  *Why not? I saw Chaser sign that she was angry that they sent a warship.* Shellbreaker nodded to a group of gatherers returning from outside the city, their baskets bulging with green mussels. He accepted a handful of the tasty morsels from a smiling mer maid as she passed, cracking the shells in his powerful hand and sucking out the soft insides. He handed a few mussels to Finwag and Redtail, who used their daggers to pry open the shells.

  *The seamage signed that she had no control over what ships the landwalkers sent,* Redtail signed as he gulped down a mussel. *She signed that she would suggest they send an emissary to us.*

  *A landwalker emissary here?* Finwag signed, his own color shifting with worry as he gazed up through the lattice of protective coral to the glittering surface. *How would they do that? They don’t know where our home is.*

  *The seamage would show them where our home is,* Redtail signed, glancing up as well, *and they would probably send a warship and throw their iron hooks right down onto us.*

  *They would not,* Shellbreaker signed, swallowing his last mussel and fluttering his fins in frustration. *They know the mer would drag their ship to the bottom of the nearest trench.*

  *Oh, the seamage knows we would, but the landwalker empire does not think we are worthy of their attention, let alone their respect!*

  *Then the seamage must tell them that the mer will not tolerate warships in our territory, and that, if they send one, we will sink it!* Finwag snapped his tail, then sculled backward to maintain his position.

  *That was another thing; when Eelback signed that the landwalkers were risking war with the mer if they sent warships, she signed that she would not let us make war on the landwalkers.*

  *She signed that?* Shellbreaker asked, his eyes wide with surprise. *She has no say whether we make war or not! She is not The Voice! Trident Holder knows this! Did he sign nothing?*

  *No, he did not,* he signed. *The seamage says she has done much for the mer, but I see that she has done more for herself, befriending the landwalker emperor and bringing her firemage friend to her island. She strengthens her position, building ships, learning our magic, taking our friendship and giving back nothing.*

  Another school returned from a successful hunt, four large tuna trailing from their harpoon lines. They passed the entry grotto, signing greetings to the two sentries and Redtail, the scent of blood trailing in their wake.

  As they swam past, Redtail nodded to the bleeding carcasses and signed, *If Broadtail does not see that she betrays us, and allows the seamage to bond with his son, we may all soon be led around by her tether, unable to even fight for ourselves because she does not want us to go to war!*

  The two sentries floated mute, fins twitching in agitation, tridents held tightly in their hands.

  *Thank you for sharing the mussels, Shellbreaker,* Redtail signed, swimming another tight circle. *Have a care who sees you sign of this. If the seamage thinks she can stop the mer from going to war, even if The Voice so indicates, I do not want to know what she will do to those who oppose her alliances with the landwalker emperor.*

  *We will, Redtail,” Finwag signed. The two sentries waved their goodbyes and returned to their positions at the grotto’s entrance into their city.

  Redtail waved and swam away, knowing that the two would be unable to resist signing the story to every group of gatherers to pass their gate. In fact, he was counting on it.

  ≈

  “Bid, thirty-five,” Sam said, keeping a smile from her lips as she passed a card to her partner, Lord Garrett. She sipped her iced drink, a piney-tasting concoction laced with lime and sugar. Their oppo
nents, a couple of lordlings with more taste in clothes than common sense, glared at her.

  “Pass, no bid,” said the foppish dandy on her left, passing a card to his partner and holding his hand close to his embroidered waistcoat.

  “Bid, forty,” Lord Garrett said, passing a single card to her and lifting his own iced drink in toast. Sam picked it up and tucked it into place in her hand; it was the one card she needed to complete a full knight family.

  “I swear they are passing signs to each other, Fenwick!” the other lordling said with a pout, passing a card and throwing his hand down on the table. “Pass, no bid.”

  “Oh, come now, Lord Baldwin,” she said, matching his pout and adding her own indignant lilt. “Surely you’re not accusing us of cheating! Why, such an affront among true gentlemen would require that Lord Garrett call you out.” She looked to her erstwhile companion and winked. “Would it not, my lord?”

  She enjoyed the fleeting panic on Garrett’s face in the instant before he realized that she was being whimsical. She had a fantasy of challenging the lordling herself, calling for a blade and gutting him like a prize codfish.

  “Would that I had not left my sword with my other trousers, lady, I would defend your honor,” Garrett said, grinning from behind his hand of a dozen playing cards.

  “Just as well,” she said, placing her cards face up on the red felt tabletop with a flourish of her fan. “If you killed the good Lord Baldwin in a duel, he would not be able to pay us what he owes. Oh, and knight trump family in full. I believe that’s fifty, and a four-card run in trump, which is another twenty. That’s seventy, which is thirty over our bid, so it pays double.” She sketched some numbers on a scrap of parchment and said, “That’s an even one hundred crowns.”