Scimitar War

by Chris A. Jackson

  Parek steered them toward the dock, warily gauging the crowd. There were perhaps fifteen men, women and what he had assumed to be children, but soon realized were dwarves. Another dozen or so stood about the various buildings. Nobody seemed particularly agitated, fearful or wary, and none of them appeared to be armed. A figure with long, flaxen hair stood in the fore, and hailed them as the launch approached.

  “Good afternoon, sir!”

  Parek suddenly realized that it was a woman, albeit surpassingly tall, dressed in a plain tunic and leggings, and bereft of any feminine figure. But she smiled pleasantly at him, seemingly unsurprised at this impromptu visit. “I am Rella, mistress of the shipyard of Kloetesh Ghelfan, nautical architect and shipwright.”

  “Captain Johns Torek at your service, ma’am,” he said as the launch drifted to the dock. Kloetesh Ghelfan, he thought, where do I know that name? He accepted her hand; it was slim but strong, her fingers calloused. Once he stood beside her on the dock, he realized that she had the fine high cheekbones denoting elvish blood. His memory clicked; Ghelfan was the name of the half-elf shipwright that Bloodwind had captured with the seamage two years ago. According to Sam, Ghelfan now worked for the sea witch. He suppressed a sneer at this lovely irony.

  “Your yard was recommended to me by Mistress Cynthia Flaxal, Seamage of the Shattered Isles,” he lied easily, all the pieces fitting together in his mind in the span of a breath. “Or rather, Mistress Flaxal’s confidant, Camilla. We stopped at Plume Isle hoping to contract for the refit with the renowned Master Ghelfan, but both he and the seamage were away, so Lady Camilla referred us here.”

  Rella’s warm smile faded. “We generally do not contract for refits. Our specialty is new construction.”

  Parek maintained his smile, but his mind raced. This place was perfect for his purposes. He preferred to keep this transaction peaceful, but had no qualms about resorting to violence and coercion if necessary.

  “Lady Camilla did mention that, but she seemed to think that you would undertake the task as a special favor to a friend of the seamage. And let me assure you,” Parek gestured to his crew, and one handed up a small coffer, “we are well able to pay for your services.” He flipped the latch and opened the box.

  “Oh!” Rella’s almond-shaped eyes widened at the sight of the gold in the coffer, though it was only a fraction of the treasure Parek had stolen from the seamage’s keep. Several of the folk behind Rella muttered with pleased surprise. “We are not particularly busy at this time, and as Master Ghelfan holds the seamage in the highest regard, he would not begrudge us taking the time to assist a friend of Cynthia Flaxal. What sort of refit did you have in mind?”

  “Our ship, the Lady Belle, is rigged for close-wind sailing in the light airs of the Sand Coast, but we are traveling north to Tsing to sell off our cargo, and want to re-rig her for the Northern Reaches.” He’d worked these details out on their way north, and had even had the crew mount a new name placard on Cutthroat’s transom. “We’ll need to reduce the rake of her masts, perhaps respar her mainmast and reduce the size of her spanker, shorten the yards, and lengthen her sprit for a third jib. Also some cosmetic work: caulking, a new taffrail, a bit of brightwork, and new paint on her topsides. Conducting trade between Marathia and Fornice is a risky venture, especially in these times of unrest. We fought off pirates more than once, and both ship and crew bear the scars of it. Though there’s nothing I can do about the crew,” he chuckled, and his men laughed along with him, “I would like to pretty up the ship. It might be a bit of a challenge, but nothing you’re not capable of, certainly.”

  “Certainly,” she agreed with quiet pride. She exchanged looks with several of the people behind her, nodding in response to their eager grins. “Well, I do not see why we cannot accommodate you. I will provide a pilot to help you navigate the channel, Captain Torek. Once we assess the work needed, we will draw up a contract.” She extended her hand and he took it with a smile.

  “Excellent! Lady Belle is rather heavily laden, the proceeds of almost three years trading between Marathia and Fornice. So we may need to off-load before you haul her.”

  “Of course. We shall make her new again, Captain Torek.” Rella motioned to one of the people behind her, a swarthy man with narrow shoulders and a hooked nose. “Brycen here will help you bring your ship in.”

  “Excellent, excellent!” Parek smiled genuinely, handing the coffer back down into the launch and helping the man aboard. “I daresay the Gods of Light are smiling on us today, ay, lads?”

  His men smiled and laughed, greeting the pilot as an old friend. Parek boarded the launch and took his place at the tiller, thinking, This is going to work out just fine.

  ≈

  Upton entered the keep, paused to mop his brow with a sodden handkerchief, then headed for the stairs. There was no point in putting this off; the sooner he searched the lady Camilla’s quarters, the sooner he could confirm or refute his suspicions. His interviews with the witnesses had corroborated one fact; the lady had stood in the cockpit of the smack as it sailed past the warships. No one had seen any means of restraint. That, and the fact that the sandy print on the dock was a very close match to the sketch of the bloody footprint from the first murder, had seeded the suspicion that she was not a simple bystander in either occurrence. He didn’t know what he might find in the lady’s rooms that might support or refute that suspicion, but a pair of shoes would help. Steps before the first landing, he met Huffington descending. The man bore his valise, as usual, and seemed in a hurry, but a thought occurred to Upton and he raised a hand to forestall him.

  “Mister Huffington, I want to thank you again for your aid this morning, and have a word, if I may.”

  “If it’s urgent, sir. I’m on an errand for my master, and I dare not delay long.”

  “And how is the count bearing up?”

  “Poorly, sir. Admiral Joslan has refused any sort of aid, and he’s in a state of deep despair.”

  “Yes, the admiral can be quite bullheaded.” He chose his next words carefully. “He must love the lady very much.”

  “He does, sir.” Huffington stared at him, obviously impatient to be about his business.

  “I know little about Miss Camilla. She was a captive of Captain Bloodwind for some years, correct?”

  “I know Miss Camilla only through her association with Count Norris.” The secretary’s expression turned thoughtful. “It’s rumored that she went through a very rough time as Bloodwind’s captive. I was told by a reliable source that the pirate wished to wed her.”

  “Wed her? Really?” This was news to Upton. “And her current loyalties?”

  “She is utterly faithful to Cynthia Flaxal, from what I understand.” Huffington’s countenance closed, and Upton knew the man suspected the spymaster’s suspicions. “She was ill-treated by the pirates who ravaged this place, Master Upton. I don’t think for a moment that she was in league with them.”

  “Hmm, yes. Neither do I, really, I suppose.” Not in league, perhaps, he thought, but maybe coerced or blackmailed into compliance. “But her abduction remains unexplained. I hesitate to suggest Cynthia Flaxal’s possible involvement to the admiral, considering that the evidence is completely circumstantial, but I, for one, do not think the lady Camilla was taken as a hostage. Do you?”

  “I have no idea, sir. Now, if you’d excuse me.”

  He nodded to Huffington and smiled. “Thank you, Mister Huffington, and remember, if you require any assistance in the other matter we discussed, please do not hesitate to call on me.”

  “If I require assistance, I’ll do so.” Huffington nodded and descended the stairs.

  Upton resumed his climb to the third level of the keep, thinking about the exchange. Long experience told him that Huffington had spoken the truth. The man’s concern for his master was obviously foremost in
his mind, which was understandable. From what Upton had gleaned during his investigation of Huffington, the count had rescued him from a disreputable and dangerous life in the more dire quarters of the city of Tsing. He owed the count his life, and his dedication was admirable.

  Upton stopped before the door of Camilla’s rooms and frowned. The hinges were bent, and doorjamb was splintered where the pirates had apparently kicked it in, so there was no way to lock it. Anyone could have come and gone a dozen times. He gave the door a gentle push, and it creaked harshly as it swung open.

  The main room was less of a shambles than many he had seen. The furniture seemed sparse, but he knew that some had been appropriated by the imperial officers housed here. He scanned the area briefly, but knew that what he sought would be in the bedchamber, if anywhere. The door to that room was closed. He thumbed the latch and pushed it open, then stood for a moment in the doorway and cast about, looking for anything that seemed out of place. The bed was intact, though its coverlet was rumpled, and the dresser and wardrobe cabinets looked undisturbed.

  He stepped to the bedside and searched under the coverlet and pillows. Nothing. There was also nothing under the mattress. Under the bed there was only dust, and a couple of swatches of lace. He moved to the wardrobe and opened it. Another frown creased his lips as he scanned what little remained inside; a few pettiskirts and a lot of empty hangers. There were no shoes.

  The dresser drawers were mostly empty, save for a few worn undergarments and stockings. In the bottom drawer he found an ornate sewing box, and lifted it out. The dented lid fit poorly—the hinges had been bent and straightened—but the box was still serviceable. He lifted the lid and frowned anew. It was empty. Not a strand of thread or scrap of material lay within. But there were the swatches of lace under the bed, as if they’d been dropped and lost. If someone dropped the box, losing the lace, and took the trouble to straighten the hinges and take the contents of the box, why not just take the whole box? He ran his hands deftly around the interior, but there were no hidden compartments or latches. He sighed in frustration, and stopped.

  That scent, he thought, breathing deeply of the faint aroma. He brought the box up to his face and sniffed carefully. The scent of teak wood, but something else, something sweet and cloying…he sniffed again, but couldn’t place it. Perhaps leftover perfume on the lady’s garments?

  Frustrated, he closed the box, replaced it in the drawer and continued his search. The only other space in the suite was the balcony, and a quick inspection yielded nothing once again. Not knowing what else to do, he filed the information away in his mind and left the room, disappointed. He might have better luck when he searched the count’s quarters, but that would have to wait until Norris was not in residence.

  ≈

  Huffington watched Upton move from Camilla’s balcony back into the room, then cautiously eased out of the shade of the tree he had been using for cover. The last thing he wanted was the spymaster to see that he had been spying on him, or to note which direction he was now headed. He strode past the shipyard and took the well-used trail that led into the jungle.

  He smelled the tar pits long before he saw them. During the tour of the shipyard Camilla had given the count on their first arrival on the island, she had extolled the benefits of having a nearby source of the material used in making creosote and naphtha. Tar had been harvested from these pits for years, bucket-load after bucket-load. Huffington had no desire to harvest tar, but the tar pits would serve his purpose well.

  Carefully surveying the area, Huffington made sure that no one was around. A small wooden crane with a metal dipper bucket was mounted at the end of a dock that jutted out over the noisome black pit. Here workers would fill yoked buckets to be taken back to the shipyard. With the shipyard out of commission, nobody had been here in weeks. He stooped to pick up a large stone, then ventured carefully out onto the dock, squinting and breathing shallowly against the thick stench.

  After one more glance around, he knelt, opened his satchel and withdrew a white bundle: Camilla’s bloodstained nightgown wrapped around two pairs of her shoes. Laying it onto the dock, he opened it up, put the stone on the shoes, then retied it tightly. He dropped the bundle over the end of the dock and used the dipper bucket to push it under the surface. With any luck, the incriminating evidence would sink straight to the bottom and remain undiscovered forever. And if it ever was hauled up in a bucket of tar, it would be impossible to tell that the gown had ever been white, much less bloodstained.

  Thankfully, his suspicious nature had gotten the best of him and he’d discovered the nightgown while retrieving the lady’s shoes.

  Huffington rose, shouldered his satchel, and headed back to the keep. No doubt Upton had completed his own search of Camilla’s rooms by now, and he didn’t want to raise the man’s suspicions by being conspicuously absent.

  Chapter 6

  Hydra

  “That’s it!” Camilla said, squinting into the afternoon sun at the three masts and dark hull of the big galleon. Behind her, Paska and Tipos whispered nervously. They had readily told her the location of the largest cannibalistic tribe. The island on which they lived was also one of the few with a protected anchorage deep enough to admit the galleon they sought. But they had protested loud and long when Camilla ordered them to bring her here. They wanted to go to Vulture Isle to gather a war party from their own tribe, but she had insisted.

  A cordon of coral protected a deep lagoon on the island’s windward side. The winds were stronger here, and the swells broke high against the reef crest, pouring milk-white foam across the shallow back reef. A clearly visible channel into the lagoon cut through the reef further south. It seemed narrow, but if the galleon had made it through, undoubtedly Flothrindel could, too.

  “Take us in!”

  “Right,” Paska said hesitantly, nodding to Tipos. “Get ready to jibe her, Tipos. I don’t wanna waste no time.”

  “Fine, but you can bet dat dey gonna see us comin’.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Tipos,” Camilla said. She wished she felt as confident as her words. “Even if they don’t see us now, they’ll find out soon enough that we’re here.”

  Camilla clenched the rail tightly as the boat picked up speed; though she had lived on Plume Isle most of her life, she had little real experience sailing. Flothrindel rode the tumultuous seas like a cork bobbing on a rippled pool. The gap looked treacherous, but Paska and Tipos had grown up on the ocean, and she trusted their abilities.

  “Tipos,” Paska called, “we be ready?”

  Tipos had been shifting lines here and there, and now he took two of them in his hands and nodded. “Ready!”

  “Okay, den. Here we go!”

  Paska pushed the tiller hard over, and Flothrindel rounded downwind. Tipos slacked the leeward sheet as they came around. The big mainsail jibed, Paska shortening the sheet to dampen the force of it, but the boat heeled over sharply until she adjusted the sail. Now the two sails extended on opposite sides of the boat, like the wings of a great white bird pulling them downwind at a roaring pace. Flothrindel surfed the big swells as they raced toward the gap in the reef. In a flash they were through. The waves immediately abated, though the wind remained at full force. Paska turned them toward the anchored galleon and Tipos trimmed the sails. Camilla took a deep breath, and tried to calm her pounding heart.

  “Well, dere you are, Miss Cammy,” Paska said as they approached the big ship. “Don’t look like nobody aboard, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Where you wanna go?”

  “As close to the beach as you can get.” She eyed the clear turquoise water. The thought of wading ashore, immersing herself in the saltwater, sent waves of revulsion through her. This new sensation, she knew, came from the demon. Camilla scanned the dense wall of jungle. There were no signs of the cannibals yet, though that didn’t mean they weren’t hiding in the de
ep shadows beneath the verdant vegetation. “Once I’m gone, pull into deeper water in case you have to flee.”

  Tipos looked up in appalled awe as they passed close by the huge galleon. “I’m t’inkin’ we should be doin’ sometin’ to dat ship before we go, so dey can’t be usin’ it again.”

  “We could burn it,” Paska suggested.

  “We don’t need a fire,” Camilla said. She hated to use her power on this, but Tipos was right; leaving the cannibals an intact ship meant that they could collect more prisoners, and no one in the Shattered Isles would be safe. “Just keep us close to the ship.”

  Reluctantly, Camilla reached inside herself to where the demon’s magic lay hot and seething. Drawing on the power, the feel of it both revolting and seductive, she bent her thoughts to the ocean, cursing it and demanding that it obey. She forced the sea against the galleon’s hull, closed upon it like the jaws of a great beast until the timbers groaned and cracked. The water beneath the ship churned, and with a sudden crunch, the hull collapsed inward. The galleon lurched as its hold filled with water and it settled to the sandy bottom. The three great masts canted as the ship heeled over. The damage was nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a lot of time, materials, and skilled labor, but the cannibals had no such skills, and would never be able to refloat the ship.

  Camilla released her hold on the power, shuddering as she suppressed another wave of hunger.

  “Bloody hells!” Tipos muttered, staring first at the ship, then at Camilla.