The House of the Four Winds: Book One of One Dozen Daughters

by Mercedes Lackey

  “They can’t hang us if we aren’t mutineers, right enough. And I’ve never heard it said that throwing pirates off your ship could be called mutiny,” Dr. Chapman said, voicing what they all knew. “As for how the Brotherhood intends to stop it, well, we’ll weather that storm when it blows, won’t we?”

  “That only leaves the sailing,” Dickon said dubiously.

  Dominick shrugged. “If there is no word by tomorrow noon, I’ll go back to the House of the Four Winds to demand answers. Or at least, to very politely request permission to sail,” he added with a wry smile.

  “If you go, I go,” Clarice said. There was no place on earth she wanted less to go, but if Dominick went, she would, too. And perhaps find out why Shamal didn’t want Dominick talking to Captain Fairfax.

  “I would have it no other way,” Dominick said warmly. “Well, my friends, let us fill our glasses and raise them before we seek our beds.”

  Glasses and a bottle were quickly brought from the tantalus, and when every glass was filled, Dominick asked, “Who has the toast?”

  “I do.” Clarice raised her cup. “To the captain and crew of Asesino: Nous errons où nous voulons—we go where we choose.”

  “Hear, hear!” Dr. Chapman said.

  Everyone raised glasses and drank.

  * * *

  In the morning, by unspoken agreement, Geordie went ashore and brought back breakfast—and Jerrold Robinson, as well, whom he had found at the tavern. He strutted proudly in his new purchase: a blue coat with a double row of silver buttons.

  “It’s ’coz I’m Captain Moryet’s personal aide, like,” he announced.

  “And you’ll make a fine captain yourself someday,” Dominick said, forcing cheer Clarice knew he did not feel into his voice. Despite a night’s rest he still looked exhausted—and if no one but her knew he feared Shamal’s summoning him back into ensorcelled amnesia, she could see that worry plainly.

  They gathered in the common room to share bread and cider and cold mutton pies, and Clarice found herself thinking longingly of those few brief days between the mutiny and their landfall. Would she ever again experience such joyful camaraderie and easy friendship?

  Will you even live to worry about it? she asked herself bitterly.

  Jerrold was delighted to hear they would soon be sailing and insisted on waiting on them as, so he said, “a proper cabin boy should.”

  “I am glad you are here, for just now I have a delicate job of work for you,” Dominick said.

  Jerrold practically saluted, and Clarice saw Dr. Chapman hide a smile.

  “Anything, Cap’n! Just try me!”

  “We need to get the crew aboard,” Dominick said. “And while I know Kayin will do his best for us, I would like to make bringing Mr. Emerson back your personal task.”

  Jerrold blinked, but his enthusiasm didn’t waver. “Yes, sir, Cap’n, sir! On the double! Sober?”

  That startled an honest laugh out of Dominick. “I don’t think we need to go that far, Jerrold. Aboard will be enough.”

  * * *

  The crew began drifting back to Asesino almost immediately once the word was passed that they were to make ready to sail. The sailors returning to the ship came in ones and twos, but each was accompanied by local people. To bring them here? Or to watch us sail? Clarice wondered. Once Mr. Emerson was aboard, Dominick ordered Jerrold to the crow’s nest, with orders to keep watch. Both Clarice and Dominick prowled the deck, trying not to fall prey to nerves. The Horrid Hangman had sailed as they watched—silently, which meant that her rigging was thoroughly ensorcelled—and now Asesino was alone in the harbor.

  “Something’s about to happen,” Clarice said in a low voice. She nodded toward the land.

  Men and women loitered in the chandlery dooryard and gathered with ostentatious casualness at the oak tree beside it.

  “I see,” Dominick said equally quietly. “Perhaps they think we mean to try to run the harbor chain and look to see us drown.”

  “Perhaps,” Clarice said doubtfully. She was certain the Doradans would consider it high entertainment—the question was, why did they think Asesino would try it?

  She picked up the clipboard with the ship’s roster from a nearby barrel as two more men began to ascend the gangplank. Having just checked off Duff Evans and John Tiptree, she peered at the tally to get a count of who was yet to board.

  “Ahoy, the Asesino! Permission to come aboard!”

  It was Edmund Bell Fairfax, captain of Sirocco and leader of the Pirate Brotherhood. In the candlelit dimness of the House of the Four Winds, he’d been a dramatic figure. In the light of day, in his jewels and velvets, he looked like something out of a myth. With him were two of the other captains from the House of the Four Winds: Nigel Brown of the Tamerlane, and Alec Campion of the Limerick Rake. Brown had his tricorne tucked under his arm politely, and Campion was hatless. Bell doffed his hat with a flourish and made an exaggerated bow.

  The very model of a modern pirate captain, Clarice thought uncharitably.

  “Permission granted,” Dominick said, coming up beside her. “I am pleased to see you again, Captain Fairfax. As you can see, we are ready to sail. I was about to come in search of you.”

  Clarice glanced at the faces of Fairfax’s two companions. Both men looked grim, and her heart sank.

  “Perhaps we might continue this conversation below?” Fairfax said.

  “Of course,” Dominick said. “Come to my cabin.”

  * * *

  “A lovely place,” Captain Fairfax said, gazing around. Now that Clarice was looking for it, she could see he was putting on a show of geniality to cover his unease, and her heart sank further.

  “It will do,” Brown said. “With a few changes.”

  “Oh, my dear, always so negative. When life hands you lemons, make grog with them!” Campion said lightly. Of the three of them, Clarice thought he was the least uncomfortable with whatever news the three of them had come to impart.

  Dominick seated himself in the cabin’s only chair. Clarice went to the tantalus and collected glasses and a bottle. Campion and Brown sat down on the bunk; Fairfax remained standing. Clarice poured five glasses full of port and handed them around, leaving the bottle beside Dominick before taking up a watchful stance beside the door.

  “Now that we’re all comfortable,” Dominick said with only a faint tinge of irony, “perhaps you’ll be so good as to tell me why you’ve come?”

  “It’s to give you the details about your voyage,” Campion said, when it became clear neither of the others would speak. “While of course we appreciate your generous and noble gesture at our little gathering—”

  “When you volunteered to bring us back the Heart of Light,” Brown added, as if Dominick might have forgotten.

  “—there are perhaps some things that remain unsettled,” Campion finished imperturbably.

  “Such as where we are going, and how we’re to find it, and—oh, but I’m sure I need not trouble you fine gentlemen with minor details you have already thought of,” Dominick said.

  “You will be carrying a passenger,” Fairfax said. He sounded as if the words were being forced from him. “These accommodations are to be hers.”

  “‘Hers’?” Clarice demanded sharply, before Dominick could speak.

  “The Lady Shamal sails with you,” Captain Fairfax said. “Once her baggage has been loaded, you may sail at will.”

  Clarice drained her glass. That explains why we have no charts, I suppose. And why she is so confident we will not only go, but come back.

  “I am surprised,” Dominick said waspishly. “How can you bear to lose such an enchanting companion?”

  “Not by choice!” Fairfax blurted.

  Campion rose to his feet and put a warning hand on Fairfax’s arm. “What my dear Edmund means, of course, is that our days will be dark and our hearts will be heavy until she returns. And that we will trust you to keep her safe.”

  Captain Brown got to his feet as
well, setting his untouched glass aside. “Yes. That’s what Edmund means. That’s what all of us mean. What else?”

  Clarice could almost feel sorry for them. What they were doing was clearly against their wishes, and she wondered if it was magic or simple extortion that forced them to do it.

  “What else?” Dominick echoed. “I thank you for this information, gentlemen. Clarence, if you will assemble a work party, I shall vacate my quarters in anticipation of our … honored guest.”

  “Of course,” Clarice said.

  She’d almost rather stay on Dorado than sail with Shamal.

  Not much of a choice.

  * * *

  By the time Clarice had overseen the removal of Dominick’s things to the first mate’s cabin and had her own possessions moved to the cabin formerly occupied by the Reverend Dobbs, the first items of Shamal’s baggage were being brought on board.

  Shamal certainly does not travel light, Clarice thought. The porters were the same Ifranes who had loaded Asesino’s supplies, supervised by Alumeda Thompson. Boxes and trunks and muslin-shrouded bundles were taken to the captain’s cabin, but a number of crates and barrels also had to be—so Alumeda said—stowed below. She remained on deck, and Clarice accompanied Geordie to oversee that work.

  “Not a mark or a label anywhere, Mr. Swann!” he said despondently. “And no way to know what’s in any of them. How we’re to bring up one keg and not another is anybody’s guess.”

  “Perhaps they’re all for use at our destination,” she said as soothingly as she could.

  “We were going to make for Cibola.” Even in his distress, he kept his voice low. “But I heard … the Lady Shamal … she’s a thaumaturge, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, Geordie, I’m afraid she is. A very powerful one.” There was no point in denying it; he’d probably heard tales of her while he was ashore. “I don’t think you can count on our going to Cibola just yet.”

  Dominick had told no one but his officers about going after the Heart of Light, but Clarice kept in mind Dr. Chapman’s warnings about gossip.

  “Maybe Cap’n Dominick can talk some sense into her,” Geordie said hopefully.

  “Perhaps he can.”

  * * *

  When Clarice reached the deck again, she saw men walking up the gangplank. Stumbling, rather. Their bodies were gaunt with starvation. Some supported their fellows as they limped along; many wore crude bandages. As soon as they gained the deck, they sat—or collapsed—into the first clear space they could find.

  “You’ve delivered your charges,” Dominick said, white-faced with fury. “Now get off my ship before I throw you over the side.”

  “Just as you like, Captain Moryet, sir.” The man facing Dominick tugged at the brim of his hat with ostentatious insolence and shouldered through the men still staggering up the gangplank. Some fell.

  “The rest of Shamal’s ‘supplies,’” Dominick said to Clarice with weary fury. “Apparently we are to sail with a full complement after all.”

  “Captives,” Clarice said quietly. That they were being sent to Asesino as crew—in defiance of all she’d been told of Dorado’s customs—only confirmed what she’d suspected all along: this “quest” was something they were not meant to survive. Any of them.

  “Tell Kayin to get them belowdecks,” Dominick said. “Then go to the surgery, of your kindness. Dr. Chapman will need your help. I must make ready to sail. And to see to our passenger’s comfort, when she chooses to board.” His voice was colorless.

  “Be careful,” Clarice said, putting a hand on his arm. She turned without waiting for his response and made her way below.

  * * *

  Dr. Chapman worked with the quickness of one who has learned his profession in battle. No sooner had he finished with one patient than the next appeared. Clarice’s world dwindled to one of broken limbs and ugly wounds. At that, Dr. Chapman was only seeing the worst cases among the fifty-two men they’d been forced to take aboard—he’d sent Geordie and Rogerio to look them over and send those who needed immediate care to the surgery.

  “Just thank the Spirits and Powers we haven’t seen any sickness,” Dr. Chapman said grimly, after dismissing their latest patient. “I’d have to put those ashore to save the rest of us.”

  “I suppose you don’t last long in the stockade if you’re sick,” Clarice answered dully. She’d known they were looking first for signs of illness. There was no way to quarantine a sick man on Asesino, and few resources available for nursing.

  “Why haven’t we sailed?” she added. She knew Shamal was aboard, for on one of his trips to bring patients to the surgery Geordie had told them that. Only the knowledge that Dominick was vital to Shamal’s plans had left Clarice able to concentrate on the work before her.

  “Can’t until I give the word,” Dr. Chapman said. “It’s the law of the sea—one even pirates respect.” He straightened and stretched.

  Clarice moved stiffly to the doorway to summon the next patient. The corridor was deserted. “There’s no one out here.”

  “Then that means we’re done.” Dr. Chapman picked up a half-full bottle of brandy and splashed some into a tin cup. He tossed it back, then offered the cup and bottle to Clarice.

  She shook her head. Right now what she wanted was a strong cup of tea.

  “Then you can go and tell the captain we can sail,” Dr. Chapman told her. “We’re carrying no plague.”

  * * *

  Clarice didn’t know what she expected to find on deck. Armed men? Dead bodies? But all was quiet. The crew were occupying themselves with various minor tasks, or simply sitting and waiting for orders. Dominick was on the afterdeck, looking out over the ship. He looked worn to the bone, and his sun-bronzed skin held an undertone of gray. The sight of him, alive and whole, made her giddy with relief and desperately worried at the same time. Was it Shamal’s enchantment that was draining him? Or was it because he was fighting it?

  And if he was, what command was it he was fighting not to obey?

  “Dr. Chapman says we may sail,” she said when she reached Dominick’s side.

  “Thank you, Clarence,” Dominick said, relieved. He took a deep breath and turned to Kayin, who was waiting nearby. “You heard him. Let’s get out of here.”

  Kayin turned to the rail and blew a long blast on his whistle. Suddenly the ship was alive with movement, but not the movement Clarice expected.

  They were lowering the boats.

  “Can’t put on sail at dockside,” Kayin said for her benefit. “We’d go right up on the rocks.”

  Now Clarice saw the reason for Dominick’s insistence on replacing the jolly boat they’d lost, for the whole motive power of the ship was being provided by rowers.

  Twenty-six men in the boats, and even I know we cannot make sail with those left aboard. I hope we never need to.

  She stood beside Dominick, who occasionally shouted an order or a correction, but mostly just watched.

  “Shamal?” she asked quietly.

  “In her quarters. She’s ordered her meals brought to her there, so I do not believe she intends to … mingle. She’s brought a servant with her to see to her needs. His name is Gregale. A mute.”

  “Lucky Gregale, he won’t have to worry about getting a word in edgewise,” Clarice said waspishly. She sighed. Giving vent to her temper wouldn’t do anyone any good. “Has she told you where are we going?”

  “North. I have no better answer for you, Clarence. She told me to go north, and so I shall.”

  He must have been fighting Shamal’s order until he received Dr. Chapman’s all clear. No wonder he looked so drawn!

  “Told you … or ordered you?” Clarice asked quietly.

  “I do not think there is a difference,” Dominick answered, equally quietly. “At least she did not say I must sail at once, though Spirits and Powers know I am eager enough to quit this place. But whether that is my will or hers … I do not know.”

  Those were the most frightening words Clar
ice had ever heard in her life.

  * * *

  Clarice watched from the afterdeck as the jolly boats drew Asesino across the sunken anchor chain. The Vile Vixen had sailed a few days before, and the Horrid Hangman had sailed this morning. Neither had caused the harbor chain to do so much as twitch, but she held her breath until they were across it.

  The boats were recalled and hoisted aboard, and the crew leaped to the command “Make sail!” The great sails cascaded down from the yardarms like curtains falling at a play, to boom and stiffen as they took the wind. In that moment, the ship seemed to awaken as if from a long slumber. Once again she was a living thing.

  It was a single moment of pure and stainless joy. Clarice clutched the pendant she still wore about her neck. She knew it would probably be the last one.

  “I must go below to examine the charts and set our course,” Dominick said to her a few moments later. “Will you accompany me?”

  “Of course.”

  * * *

  The man standing guard upon the door to the captain’s cabin was well over six feet tall. He was barefoot and naked to the waist, and his skin was hairless. He stood motionless, arms folded across his enormous chest. The only thing Clarice could compare him to was a statue of some ancient god, for his shoulders were massive and his body was corded with muscle. He resembled such a statue in more ways than one, for he did not look as if he’d ever been out in the sun. But though it was pale, his skin did not seem to be truly fair. Its color had an odd undertone, like the green of weathered bronze.

  “Gregale,” Dominick said quietly. He stopped beside the door. Gregale’s enormous bulk filled most of the passageway. “Get out of the way,” Dominick said shortly. “I need to consult with your mistress.”

  Gregale didn’t move.

  “Yes, I see, Shamal has given you orders and you intend to obey them.” Dominick’s voice had a cold undertone of fury. “But you see, you aren’t on Dorado any longer. This is my world. And in my world, ships require courses, and courses require charts. And if you don’t want to see us founder on the nearest reef I can find, you’re going to let me find out where we’re bound.”