The Forgotten King

by Jonathan Dunn

“Heavenly pedantics!” he cried, “The door is sabotaged and cannot be lowered, so they break it down. I’ll watch my words next time, I will.”

  Clifford quickened his pace as much as he could without appearing hurried. He guided the barrels carefully with the pole, keeping them together to prevent his passage being delayed. The closer he came to the drawbridge, the heavier and more severe the blows against it became. Then, with a final crash, it fell forward across the moat. Clifford was no more than ten feet from it, and could not stop, for fear of exciting suspicions. His face convulsed strangely, his nose wringing up and his chin lowering. He had worked within the castle for seventy years: if they saw his true face they would know him.

  Just as he reached the end of the drawbridge, the first horseman came over it: Gylain. Clifford shoved the barrels forward under the drawbridge – where they could not be seen from above – and came to a stop. Gylain also stopped, directly in front of him and looking down at the old man. At the angle, however, the hood of his cloak shielded Clifford’s face.

  “Who are you, that you take your wares around in the dead of night?” Gylain asked.

  Clifford put his hand to his ear, as if listening.

  “Listen, my lord,” he said, “If it were the dead of night, would there be revelers still returning home? I am poor, and if I do not work all day and night, I cannot eat. A starving stomach will make any man nocturnal.”

  “I see,” Gylain said. He turned to the north and cried, “Is that them?” as he pointed to a group of men returning home from their shops.

  His men turned their heads, and as they looked away Gylain tossed a few gold coins to Clifford. He did not smile, however. Then, a second later – as the others reported it was but some brewers – he scowled at Clifford and rode off to the circle of houses the rebels had occupied only moments before.

  Behind him, a hundred and fifty horseman galloped over the bridge – some following Gylain and others scattering into the city. When they were past, Clifford pushed the barrels down the river once more, toward the harbor.

  “That was too close for an old heart like mine,” he said as he examined the coins. He put them into a pocket in his cloak and glanced briefly around, to see if anyone was looking. Then he quickened his pace considerably, eager to be safely in The King’s Arm .

  It was two miles from the castle to the Floatings. The river’s current grew swifter as it neared the ocean, and for much of the length Clifford had to jog to keep pace with the barrels. Between the castle and the Floatings was the merchant’s quarter, the wealthy district. The river there – and throughout the city – was flanked by two stone walkways, with the edges of the circles coming within ten feet of it. Between the outer edges of the circles there was an open space, ordained with a fountain or garden. The circles on either side of the river were aligned, and while one point was open for fifty yards in every direction, a few yards down there was little space, with towering buildings crowding in on either side. Partly because of the current – quickened by the receding tide – and partly because of his hurry, Clifford and his barrels reached the Floatings in fifteen minutes.

  The merchant’s quarter continued until it reached the edge of the harbor, where it abruptly turned into the Floatings. That entire area of the city was not built upon land, but upon floating platforms. The harbor itself was a long curve, coming in diagonally from sea. It was two miles across and ten long. The southern portion of Eden wrapped entirely around the Floatings, abutting the ocean beyond in a semi-circle.

  Six piers pierced the Floatings, each half a mile long. They were used for loading cargo onto transport ships, which carried it to the larger ships docked in the bay. At slower times – that is to say, at night – ships in a hurry would come to it directly. The shipping of Eden was docked around the interior of the Floatings, not connected or anchored to the land, but to the various buildings that made up the Floatings. These buildings were themselves left to float freely wherever they were wanted. It was constantly engaged in the evolutionary cycle, becoming faster and easier.

  Because of this, Atilta was the maritime capital of the world during this period – and at this period, maritime power was above all others. The shipping of Europe, the Mediterranean, Africa, and Asia was collected in the great Atiltian harbor: the Floatings. Civilization did not decline into barbarism with Rome’s fall, as some have said. Instead, it grew up in Atilta.

  The buildings of the Floatings were large, and many rose several stories above the water, with another below. Most commonly, a wide deck stretched along the outside of the building, on which ships would moor and unload their cargo. Their movements were controlled by a rudder, as other ships are. Sails were used to propel them on longer journeys, and there were booms that folded out from the sides for that purpose. Within the Floatings, however, there was no room; rather, oars were used. There were over two hundred of this sized building, most of which were the size of a moderate house in the other quadrants of the city. Therefore, the owners made their residence entirely within the building – the Floatings was as much a community as it was a port.

  Any harbor has its establishments – ale houses and inns for the sailors, and even gambling houses and other immoral venues. In the Floatings, these buildings were named Timbers. Above the water they were round, usually fifty yards long and ten across. Underneath the water, however, there was a platform that stretched for several yards in each direction, upon which vessels could moor, as if they were docks. The upper portion had windows on either side and a single room within – the public or drinking room. Below, however, the Timbers were rectangular and divided into rooms, as any metropolitan inn of the time. There were at least two dozen of these Timbers in the Floatings, and it was not uncommon to see them flocking about the larger ships, vying for the sailors’ business. They also left the Floatings at times, taking tours or cruises across Atilta.

  Greater still were the Marins. There were but two of these massive structures, belonging to the Fardy brothers – who had risen from a humble beginning to become the foremost merchants of Atilta, and even the world. The Marins were a floating circle – as in, the city circles into which Eden was divided. They were a hundred yards across, forming a ring. On the outside was a tall building encircling it; on the inside a small, open area, occupied by a deep cylinder whose center was open to the water. It was constructed of the firmus wood and thirty feet thick, going far below the surface of the water. A sharp steel ring was welded into its tip. Around the bottom of the Marins there were gigantic ballast tanks, capable of holding enough water to sink the entire circle until it was submerged. The building was waterproof and aerated by a series of pipes. When the Marin dived, the cylinder would drive deep into the ground below, forming a suction between the ocean crust and the air above. After a few days of hard pumping, the crew of the Marin could safely lower themselves to the bottom and mine the rich minerals hidden in the crust. These mining cylinders could be released from the Marin itself, which then could travel at a speed surpassing ten knots.

  Most of the Floatings, however, was populated by much smaller vessels. There were many floating shops – a small, floating day shop in which no one lived. The inside of the building would store the wares, while the sides were open to the air. The merchant sat along the outside of the building, dipping his feet in the water and propelling himself along with long paddles. Another variation of the floating shop was a circular vessel, with the merchant placed in the center. Oars were stuck through the walls, and he would glide along to do his business, following the directions of the lookout who sat on the roof. There were thousands of these tiny vessels. They swarmed about the Floatings like gnats, and as the larger sailing vessels came in from distant ports, the merchants would come alongside them and jump upon their roofs until they were the same height as the deck. Then began the flurry of selling and trading, in which all hands would take part. Most foreign ships did not moor in the Floatings for even a single night, for their business was finished within
hours.

  With so many merchants in the harbor, there was need for people to service them with food and the necessities of life. The Timbers were good for long meals, but most of the traders did not have the time to enter them. At any moment a new ship might arrive and if they left their stores to eat they would lose their market. Therefore, there were long, narrow vessels that the traders could pilot their ships alongside to eat their meals sitting on their roofs. Windows lined the restaurant ship through which the merchants would be served, while they were free to disengage themselves at any time to chase a ship that had just come in.

  From his tiny Lipel – a small, circular store – a merchant could glide between the larger buildings and sell his wares as he went, resupplying himself from the same. He was surrounded by counters filled with his wares – whether they were linen, fruit, books, or some other commodity – and he would never lose a moment waiting for his customers to come up.

  The Floatings was supplied with the freshest seafood: its primary food. The fishing boats were similar to the trader’s, except they were longer and wider. Instead of a shop in the center, they had a hole that communicated with a wooden tub below the ship, open to the water by several small holes. When the catch was brought in, they would dump it into this tub, and whatever was ordered, they would simply reach down and grab it fresh from its native element. No fish were wasted and, as their supply built up, they were able to pass over those days when little was caught without affecting the supply.

  In most cities of that time, the tradesmen formed themselves into guilds and built warehouses and guildhalls within the city walls. In Eden, the tradesmen would construct floating bizarres, which were no more than a covered frame in which the tradesmen would dock their boats, while shoppers or traders would float through on their own craft and purchase what it was they wanted. These were invaluable during the busiest times of the day, when the surface of the Floatings was so packed with vessels that the water could not be seen.

  There were also a number of transport ships whose only purpose was to carry citizens through the Floatings to conducts their business. These were usually uncovered flatboats, with a row of seats along each side that could raise or lower and extend to reach whatever vessel the occupant was dealing with. To go shopping, the citizens of Eden would pay a fare on one of these and be taxied from place to place around the Floatings, to carry on their business without leaving their seats.

  A market or bazaar is a bustling, confusing place. The Floatings were doubly so. There were tens of thousands of vessels constantly moving about its surface, some the size of a city circle. To control things, however, every ship was equipped with flags – color coded according to seller or buyer, wholesale or small-sale. With this, as well as with shouting and yelling, the people were able to communicate. It was for the most part an orderly place, though its magnificent wealth attracted many desperadoes. Under Gylain’s tyrannical rule, however, the only plundering allowed was his own.

  It was into this scene that Clifford led the barrels, though it was subdued for the night. The use of lights was strictly forbidden: a fire in such a dense jungle of wooden vessels would be disastrous. Many of the smaller vessels – too small for the owner to live in them – were docked every night after darkness came. At this time the waters were desolate compared to the daytime.

  Clifford led the barrels down the river until it emptied into the harbor, then guided them down one of the piers. At its end was The King’s Arm , waiting for the barrels. It had come in with the darkness, disguised as a merchant ship. No one had recognized it.

  As he approached it, Clifford called out in a loud whisper, “The meat is here, sirs. I’ve brought the meat – the hams and the pork.”

  “And the salted beef?” a voice answered.

  “Yes, and the salted beef.”

  “A bit late, but we will still take it,” and the barrels were stopped by the crew and lifted onto the deck.

  “Come aboard to receive your payment,” the voice called to Clifford, who boarded the vessel.

  A moment after he was aboard, the crew quietly slipped the ropes and floated out to the harbor. While the pilot and the helmsman were busy navigating through the other vessels, the crew began to pry open the barrels with an iron crowbar. The first to be unsealed was the Admiral, and as the lid came off and showed his head, the sailors stood at attention and saluted him.

  “Welcome aboard, sir,” they said, “It does a man good to see you back again.”

  “We are not out of hot water yet,” he answered.

  “Oh, I don’t know, sir. We haven’t had it too hot since we left the Indies.”

  “I meant danger.”

  “No, I am with you there. Let me help you up,” the sailors grabbed onto the Admiral’s arms and pulled him from the barrel.

  “It is not very authoritative, but I must stretch myself out upon the deck.”

  “Go ahead, sir. We won’t think ill of you, after all you’ve brought us through.”

  “Good,” the Admiral laughed pleasantly, “I feel like a side of pork,” and he stretched himself upon the deck.

  One by one the sailors opened the other barrels, pulling the occupants out and letting them stretch themselves upon the deck. The last barrel left was the largest. As they opened it, one of the sailors said, “Must be a biggun – even the monk with the lightning mustache had a smaller barrel than this.”

  “I gamble its a giant, after what we’ve pulled out – a man in golden armor, and two of the prettiest dames I ever seen.”

  “Well, let’s see.”

  They stuck the crowbar against the barrel and pried it open. There – looking up at them – was a black bear with an odd grin covering its face.

  “Eegads!” they shouted and jumped backwards.

  “Fear not,” Willard called out, “He is friendly.”

  They gave him a hand and pulled him from the barrel, and Horatio went to lay alongside Willard. No one said a thing. They were overcome with relief at having escaped and did not wish to draw attention to themselves by talking. Only Barnes Griffith, the energetic seaman, was upon his feet. He was at the helm, watching their course carefully.

  “By the devil!” he exclaimed, “Admiral, come here!”

  “You can handle it, my boy. I have faith in you,” he answered from the deck.

  “No, you don’t – not for this, anyway. Come here at once!”

  “Now, I am the Admiral here, and I give the orders,” he laughed, “What is the matter?”

  “There are six ships of war coming toward us – flying Gylain’s colors!”

  “What? You must be mistaken,” cried the Admiral as he leapt to his feet and ran to the bow.

  “There, sir, off to the port bow.”

  “Good God!” the Admiral said. “It’s the whole bloody harbor fleet!”

  Chapter 44

  “Unfurl the sails, men, and prepare for flight. Archers, take your positions and soldiers stand in front of them. They may outnumber us, but we will not easily go down!” cried the Admiral.

  The men were in the act of carrying out his orders when Ivona, still wearing her lovely white dress, stepped forward and said, “No, we must not do that.”

  The Admiral turned to her. “For what reason, Ivona?”

  “Because, my lord,” she answered humbly, “It is impossible for them to know that we are escaping. While Gylain ate with me, I asked him to send the fleet to the northern part of the island. He did so immediately. They are just now returning and have not had communication with the land since. If we behave as an ordinary frigate, we will not be stopped.”

  “Your presence of mind is worthy of your rank and beauty, Ivona,” he said, bowing, “And mine to my own. Men, do nothing to excite suspicion. Archers and soldiers, go below deck and do not show yourselves unless you are summoned.”

  “Yes, sir,” and it was done at once.

  The Admiral stood facing the oncoming ships of war, the wind coming directly toward him.
His stature was straight and manly, his bearing strong and courageous. There were no lights except the moon, and in the semi-darkness his eyes shone forth with the anger that was always kindled within him. A few mere coals, perhaps, yet present nonetheless. The others had arisen, and were standing around the deck toward the port bow, watching the approaching ships. Celestine stood hand-in-hand with Alfonzo, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. They were still strangers to each other, except for their love. Willard stood alongside Horatio, the black cape once more covering his gleaming armor. A few feet to the left, Ivona stood by Oren Lorenzo. The Fardy brothers and Vahan Lee were solemnly assembled in the stern, and Barnes and Blaine Griffith stood directly behind the Admiral, silent in their brotherly companionship. Osbert was near them, looking lost apart from his native element, the forest.

  “If I remember correctly,” the Admiral turned to Barnes, “The prisoners were all killed attempting to escape, except Nicholas Montague?”

  “Correct, sir. The men had little choice, for the captives were escaping

  “No doubt, Barnes, for the winds of Gylain blow here just as the trade winds blow in the Indies, only more regularly.”

  The Admiral gave Barnes a more serious look. “I suspect you are glad to have gotten over your childhood fancy for my daughter? She is as compassionate as her mother, for good or for ill.”

  “Father,” Celestine broke in, “Think of her only at her best; she was not always as she became in the end. You harm the good memories when you think only of her faults.”

  “Her faults were also her charms, my daughter. And her charms cannot be forgotten by any who loved them, much less those who suffered for that love.”

  “Suffered, yes, but with joy,” she answered, “And with hope. Memories are so much more than the present, their love so much fuller.”

  “But memories are the past, and the past is no more.”

  “Then why do you not let it go? Why is a memory of anger and hatred allowed, when one of love is not?”

  “Because the parting note is the most replayed – in its melody the others are forgotten. If only the hearts of women were won as easily as the hearts of men, and the victories of love as the victories of battle.”