Lord Samuel sat idly, leaving Leopold to hold onto the netting that hung down the outside of the ship. The dark steaming hull heaved dangerously atop the waves and, as it leaned towards them, the wooden rampart hovered menacingly above their heads.
‘What do we do?’ Leopold asked.
A gantry swung out above them, as a team of sailors adjusted ropes and pulleys into position.
‘Climb,’ the magician said, standing and putting his hands to the rope netting. He raised one boot and commenced climbing, with Leopold following after him.
The netting was a simple ascent for Leopold; he pondered how Salu and Toby would follow. Looking down, he saw them sitting in the boat, Toby watching with wonder.
‘They’ll be fine,’ Samuel assured Leopold as he reached the top and waited for him.
They climbed onto the deck together, where a cluster of sailors reeled back from the magician. Terror flashed between them. Samuel held out his palms and bowed his head to show he meant no harm.
‘Go about your work, gentlemen,’ he told them, stepping aside to give them room. ‘Superstitious fools,’ he muttered to Leopold as the men reluctantly returned to their work.
The sailors were readying a device consisting of beams, ropes and counterbalances. When they were ready, ropes descended, with two men standing on hooks at the end. It was meant to raise the boat below and indeed, many other similar vessels were already locked into place at the side of the ship, riding high above the waves.
‘Why didn’t we just sit and wait for them to pull us up?’ Leopold asked.
‘Because people make mistakes,’ was Lord Samuel’s reply. ‘I would rather climb and be safe than be dropped. Especially with those barrels aboard.’
A voice called and a caped man leapt down from stairs that led to a huge rearward structure.
‘Samuel!’ the fellow declared in greeting. ‘Welcome aboard!’ He had long black hair tied in a ponytail, a triangular beard, extravagant moustache and a black eyepatch covering one eye. He was delighted to see the magician, the first man Leopold saw as being so, certainly outdoing Captain Orrell’s subtle reception by far.
‘Daneel,’ the magician responded, with no effort to match the other’s enthusiasm.
‘You have returned again, alive and well, my fine Magician. I am past thinking someone may one day get the better of you. Pray tell, did you find whatever you were looking for?’ He had an accent like none Leopold had heard before and enjoyed pronouncing each individual word, passing them over his lips in delectation.
‘I did,’ Samuel replied.
‘Wonderful!’ the man said and slapped the magician firmly on the back. ‘Ah! How could I expect any less from you?’ He was impervious to Samuel’s lifeless gaze and continued as if brothers or best of friends. Just then, the barrel laden boat was raised into view, carried on squeaking ropes, and Daneel eyed it unhappily. ‘I am only nervous about all this black powder on the Farstride. One mistake and our sortie will meet with a sudden, fiery end.’
‘Then let there be no mistakes,’ Samuel stated.
A lever was slammed into place and the sailors moved aside as the boat was swung onto the deck, allowing Toby to leap out and Salu to dangle one skinny leg over the side until it met the decking. The other leg followed and he struggled down, immediately roaming about, tapping the flooring with his stick loudly and turning one ear down, listening to the various sounds that issued with each tap.
With the boat safely in place, the sailors unloaded its explosive cargo, carrying barrels one at a time and heading down stairs that vanished below a hatchway.
Another fellow and a finely dressed woman made their way through the busied sailors towards them. The man was obviously a high-ranking officer judging from his splendid uniform, a neat suit of navy blue with gold trim and a matching cap. A narrow rapier swung at his side. He was in his greying years, standing firm and tall, lean and strong, his gaze direct and challenging; he had seen his share of difficult years.
The woman was unlike anything Leopold had ever beheld. She was much shorter than the man, slim, yet equivalent in age. She moved with poise and grace, possessing striking features. Her olive skin and narrowed eyes marked her as a foreigner to these lands—a race from the far side of the world that Leopold’s father had mentioned occasionally in his many stories.
Samuel waited for both to approach. ‘Commander Riggadardian. Lady Wind,’ he said in greeting as he nodded to each.
‘Lord Samuel, it is a pleasure to have you aboard the Farstride,’ the officer returned. ‘I bid you welcome to my mighty warship.’ He did not look entirely earnest in his welcome.
The woman bowed her head deeply as she spoke, and closed her eyes for that initial moment. ‘Likewise, Lord Magician, I am glad to see you once again.’ Her accent confirmed she was not indigenous to Amandia. Unlike the commander, as the Turian language came hesitantly from her mouth, her words and motions conveyed sincerity.
Leopold almost expected a similar gesture of greeting from the magician, but he was without formalities. ‘I will retire to my room,’ he said. ‘We should be underway as soon as everything is ready,’ and he stepped past them, leaving Leopold amongst the strangers, devoid of what to say.
‘Welcome to you also,’ Commander Riggadardian said. ‘You come in the company of the magician. Are you … of his kind?’ the man asked hesitantly.
The fellow called Daneel laughed. ‘What’s wrong with you, you blind old stoat? Can you not see who stands before you?’
Riggadardian’s confusion only intensified, and he waited for Leopold’s response to clarify the matter.
‘I am not a magician,’ Leopold defended, insulted by the insinuation. ‘I am Leopold.’
The commander was overwhelmed and dropped to one knee abruptly. ‘Your Highness!’ he declared with awe.
Leopold was taken aback.
‘Come now, man,’ the one called Daneel said with mirth. ‘Get a hold of yourself! Don’t embarrass the lad! Can’t you see him squirming? Give him time to settle in.’
Riggadardian regained his feet, breathless with excitement. ‘I am sorry, Your Majesty,’ he declared. ‘Forgive me. I have looked forward to this moment for many years. But ... why are you dressed like a commoner? What is Captain Orrell doing? Doesn’t he have any decency?’
‘It matters not, Commander,’ Leopold stated dismissively. ‘I feel fine the way I am.’ Once more, he looked himself over. ‘Is my choice of clothing not adequate?’
‘They are not suitable at all. Perhaps acceptable for a lowly duke or earl, but for the Emperor, these are rags! Who let you out like this?’
‘I think what Emperor Leopold means,’ Daneel said, intervening, ‘is that he is playing down his appearance for the sake of his security.’
A wave of realisation washed the dismay from the aging commander’s visage. ‘Of course! I should have known. When safe at sea we can have your wardrobe sorted out properly.’ Another thought then drained his face of colour. ‘Blast Captain Orrell! Apologies, Your Majesty, we have no cabin reserved for you. I am unsure what we can do,’ he stuttered. ‘My my. How deplorable!’
‘Calm yourself, my dear,’ the woman beside him urged. ‘Don’t become so agitated. That can be sorted in time.’
Riggadardian was placated by her words. ‘Yes, yes. I’m sure it can. I am sure you do not remember me, Emperor Leopold, I saw you often when you were young. I am the commander of this fleet and one of your few remaining officers. Everyone else has fallen, or worse, fled. What you are witnessing are the last remnants of your Empire. The Nine Gods willing, if we are victorious in this battle you will be returned to your throne. Cintar and the Empire will return to their glory. Turia will reign again!’ Leopold remained speechless as the man fawned. ‘Oh please, I forget my manners. Let me introduce my wife—Lady Wind. Through her efforts this magnificent vessel has been restored.’ The lady smiled, blushing, and granted Leopold a gracious bow. ‘And who else have you brought with you?’
<
br /> Leopold traced the man’s gaze to Salu rambling about the deck, Toby hopping behind. ‘Two companions of Lord Samuel’s,’ was all he could think to say. ‘I will leave it to him to explain. I wouldn’t know where to start.’
‘Then I doubt we will hear anything,’ Commander Riggadardian admitted bluntly. ‘Never mind,’ he added with a sigh. ‘We will take them in however we can.’ He then clicked his fingers towards a fellow lingering nearby. ‘Lieutenant Fillius, prepare an extra two spaces.’
‘Yes, Commander. Right to it!’ sprung the reply and the man in turn issued commands to other sailors beside him.
‘That is Lieutenant Fillius, the Captain’s Mate,’ Riggadardian explained. ‘Mr Chapman is the bosun. He’s ... there,’ he said, briefly searching for and pointing to a man shouting orders to the crew from afar. The captain of the ship is Captain Merryweather. I’m sure he’s below decks checking her over. Between the three of them, they keep this ship operating smoothly. I have the fine job of sitting back and watching them do it.’
‘Come now, Commander,’ Lady Wind said. ‘You do much more than that.’
‘Yes, well,’ he chuckled humbly.
‘And what do you do?’ Leopold asked of Daneel.
The fellow retained his mischievous smile. ‘What do I do? What don’t I do?’
Leopold waited; Daneel said no more.
‘Oh,’ was Leopold’s stumped reply.
‘Riggadardian!’ came the call of the magician from afar and the commander spun about as if pulled by a rope attached to his hip. ‘Bring my casket to my cabin at once.’
The commander kept his ear poised until he realised nothing more would be said, and he bellowed to the team at work on the black powder. ‘You heard him. And take care with it! One scratch and I will point you out to you-know-who.’
Leopold knew at once to whom the commander was referring, as did his men. The already-troubled crew looked terrified at the thought, mortified as they cast their eyes to the glossy black box being revealed beneath the barrels, and realised what it was.
****
It took several hours, but one by one the many vessels, great and small, set their sails and were away. Once readied, the Farstride filled with calls and signs of activity. Her enormous sails were unfurled by the teams of men hanging in the rigging and spread across the decks. The squares of cloth fluttered and slapped tight one after another as they gathered the wind and the mighty ship pulled away, marking the start of its voyage to Cintar.
The Farstride had a remarkable number of masts—three enormous ones that raised up from the centre deck and five smaller ones—two at the front and three towards the rear—that poked up from the upper decks. The central masts were towering giants, while the smaller ones matched the largest poles on regular vessels. Leopold was familiar with the cut of the sails, with multiple square sheets on each mast, ranging from the largest mainsails near the base up to the smaller moonsails that hung from the tips of the masts. In addition, the front of the ship bore a series of triangular jibs and the aft had a pair of spankers on manoeuvrable booms to match. The setup allowed the ship maximum speed and she could cut mighty close to the wind before losing momentum, outsailing some of the smaller ships in the right conditions.
Leopold could not imagine the complications of navigating such a behemoth. The number of crew needed to set sail was a sign of this, for the decks and rigging had been covered with men, nearly four hundred by his estimate, heaving thick ropes in tight synchronisation to the bosun’s calls, setting the sails in specific order and with exact timing.
It was a perfect task for the men of Turian navy, for if the Turians could do anything well, it was following procedures to precision. Captain Merryweather, Lieutenant Fillius and Mister Chapman earned their keep, quickly and efficiently studying the changing situation and directing their multitudes of men accordingly.
Despite the immensity of the ship, space beneath the decks was limited. Not only did the ship have to hold her own crew, she also had to carry soldiers to war. Every free space had been packed with armoured men and their equipment. Only the narrow passages between rooms were free, simply for the reason that if bodies filled them, no one would be able to pass, and that would cause bedlam for the operation of the ship.
As Emperor, Leopold was granted a spacious cabin in the enormous aftcastle—a three-storey construction, a fortified wooden keep straddling the rear of the ship. A honeycomb of rooms filled the smaller forecastle, called the fo’c’sle by the men, with the flattened space of the main deck taking up the space between. The substructure below was a hive of passageways and storerooms. The Farstride was a veritable city crafted from wood and nails, bound within the confines of her curving hull.
The cabin was comfortable, not lavish, containing a bed, small desk and a set of drawers. The rest of the space was vacant, with crewmen emptying the room of supplies and weaponry as his guide led him in.
Lieutenant Fillius was apologetic for the situation.
The man had badly scarred cheeks, marks from his youth, and wrinkles surrounded his eyes from spending many hours peering out to distance over sea. His squarish face showed a trace of cheerfulness, concealing a considerate and reasonable man. At first he had put poor old Salu and Toby into a galley full of soldiers, but on Leopold’s request had nodded thoughtfully and conceded, allowing them to share quarters with their Emperor.
A set of bunk beds were brought in and placed beside Leopold’s modest cot. At least the two would not be cramped into the holds with countless others. They had several small square windows to peep through and swing open to receive fresh air, unlike many of the rooms in the ship’s interior.
One of Riggadardian’s officers brought an assortment of clothing for Leopold to consider, taking three trips to carry it all in, piling it on the bed. He knew he was supposed to look the part, but Leopold could not take the clothes seriously. They were all too decorative and confusing; he was sure that some of them were designed for women.
Wigs, corsets, bows, ribbons and ten different pairs of tights, various jackets and ruffled blouses and things that looked half like jackets and half like shirts, as well as half a dozen strips of laced cloth of indeterminate purpose—bright and garish colours covered his bed. Huffing, Leopold dumped them into the corner, fed up with it all. He would let the commander rant and be done with it. Besides, he was the Emperor now and who was to say what the Emperor should or should not wear.
Afterwards, stretching his legs and venturing along the narrow passageway outside his cabin, Leopold felt guilty as he peered into some of the other rooms. Ten men or more shared the same space afforded him, jammed in against each other. Still, if he was the Emperor then such a position should afford him some advantages. And the men did not look to be suffering or unhappy, used to such conditions from their experiences at war, stoic and hardy. At least, that’s what he told himself.
****
With nought to do and with the corridors too busy to comfortably explore, the three of them sat on their cots, Toby high on the top bunk happily swinging his legs above Salu. They listened to the muffled sounds of men struggling outside with their loads and the various bangs and thuds that passed through the walls.
Leopold took the opportunity to sit opposite Salu, peering intently at him, trying to discern the extent of his madness.
‘Do you really have no grip on your senses?’ Leopold asked.
The old man rubbed the ball of one fist inside the other palm, mumbling, eyes shut, and lips quivering. He ignored Leopold’s voice and muttered away.
Leopold turned his attention to the boy sitting above. ‘And you, Toby—can you not say anything except your name? How is it that you can get the old man moving when you barely understand us?’ In response, Toby laughed and clapped his hands together fiercely. ‘Stop it now!’ Leopold told him sternly, for the boy was scrambling about on his bed with excitement, and the more frustrated Leopold became the more Toby enjoyed it, pointing and whooping. Le
opold turned away and let the boy quieten down of his own accord.
Leopold groaned and kicked his boots off, lying back on his bed. He hoped this would be over soon so he could return to his home and comfort his mother. He felt a foul mood overcoming him as his thoughts returned to the magician. He had not yet found any way to get back at the man, but it was only a matter of time. With Tulan’s help, he might not have to do anything at all. In good time, he thought. Patience is a virtue I am willing to learn.
A rumbling rattled through the ship and shook Leopold from his thoughts. He stood and faced the window nearest his bed. The Farstride had caught the rest of the fleet. The ships were in full sail and he saw men on the decks of their vessels, clambering in the rigging.
He longed to get into the sails and handle the ropes. The prospect of learning the workings of this colossus excited him. He yearned to see the mechanisms that enabled its ingenious operation, the clever devices hidden away. The logistics of raising either of the great anchors were unimaginable.
After staring out the window became stale, he returned to his bed with a sigh.
He thought someone may summon him to the deck; no one did, and it was Salu who led the way out of their little cabin, climbing to his feet after several hours had passed and shuffling out the door, one hand on his stick and the other feeling along the walls. He looked ludicrous in his outfit and Leopold made a mental note to find the man some more practical clothing.
Toby dropped from the bunk before old Salu had gone too far and followed with a cheeky laugh. He was garbed in his tiny suit, still enjoying it; he foraged inside his pockets incessantly, patting the stiff material with his hands, savouring its feel.
The Ancient Ones (The Legacy Trilogy Book 3) Page 9