Scimitar War

by Chris A. Jackson

  “There are several who owe me favors,” Norris answered with a wry smile. “Why?”

  “I need to draft some documents, have them ratified for about a month ago, and get them to Southaven immediately.”

  “The magistrate is no problem, but it’s weeks by courier to Southaven, and there will be no ships heading there anytime soon.”

  Cynthia chewed her thumbnail, then brightened. “Could you contact ambassador Troielstian to arrange a meeting here with the elves?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Thank you!”

  Chula had watched the exchange with no comprehension of what they were talking about, but that wasn’t his affair. “Dere’s somethin’ else we need to be doin’, Mistress,” he said as Norris got up to leave the room. “We gotta be findin’ dis pirate, Parek.”

  “Parek…” Camilla whispered as she cringed into the couch, her arms clutched around her waist.

  Cynthia stared at Chula as if he were crazy. “Why in all the Nine Hells would you want to find him, Chula?”

  “Two reasons, Shambata Daroo: blood and money.” Fury boiled through Chula as he looked at Camilla’s fear-stricken face; the woman was a mere shadow of her former self. “His blood, and your money.”

  His words wrought a peculiar change in Camilla. She slowly sat up, straightening her back and raising her head, muscles clenching at her jaw. Something dark and dangerous glinted in her eyes, and she mouthed a word that only he seemed to see. Blood.

  “We’ll need help to find him,” Horace said. “We don’t know the city so good.”

  “That’s easy,” Tim said with a feral grin, “Father’s got just the man to track him down.”

  ≈

  “Wha’de ya think, Capt’n?” Quid asked as they stood at the opposite corner of the block and stared at the tall, white-painted townhouse that Kori had disappeared into.

  “I think it’s a bloody nice place fer a common pirate to afford.” He nudged Quid and they withdrew around the corner. “Looks like they took a fair prize, then skipped out before we got back.”

  “Bloody traitors, cuttin’ out so they wouldn’t have to share it with us.” Quid spat onto the cobbles.

  “Don’t know if that’s the case, yet, Quid,” Farin said, rubbing his jaw in thought. “With all them warships about, they might have been forced to hightail it. But I know one thing; we’re gonna pay the good Master Kori a visit and find out.”

  “Shall I round up the crew?”

  “Aye, as many as are still in town. If Kori’s new digs are any indication of the plunder Parek took, they’ll want to be in on this.” He looked to Quid and grinned. “Like the oath says: loyal as one, or a watery grave.”

  Chapter 29

  The Hunt

  “Ahoy, Lady Belle,” Horace called as they approached the sleek vessel.

  Huffington sat in the prow of the launch, looking every bit the rich man’s secretary. He ran his gaze appraisingly over Lady Belle and made a nonsensical note in the small book he balanced on his knee.

  “They changed her rake and rig, but I recognize her now,” Tim said in a low voice as he nodded toward the stern. “Father and I climbed up her transom looking for Miss Cammy.”

  “Quiet now, Tim,” Huffington warned, trying to imagine his master climbing up through the transom windows, a dagger in his teeth. He failed, but it brought a thin smile to his lips. “We don’t know who’s aboard her yet. Just give me a nod if you recognize any pirates.”

  Horace called out again, and finally a figure appeared at the gunwale.

  “Ahoy the launch. What’s yer business?”

  “We’d like a word with the captain, if he’s about,” Huffington called out. When the sailor disappeared, Huffington glanced at Tim, but the boy shook his head; not a pirate. At least, not a pirate he knew.

  A moment later, another man appeared and leaned over the rail. He was older and heftier than the first, and had an air of command about him. Huffington feigned a lurch with a roll of the launch, glancing back at Tim. Again, Tim shook his head; not a pirate.

  “I’m the captain. What’s this about? Don’t tell me the commodore’s changed his mind and decided to commandeer us. You don’t look like imperials.”

  “No, sir,” Huffington said. “My master’s in the market to expand his fleet, and this fine ship caught his eye. She isn’t perchance for sale, is she?”

  “Sorry, mate, but I just bought her myself.” The man grinned triumphantly, thumbs in his broad belt. “She is a beauty, ain’t she?”

  “Oh! My master’s not going to be happy with that.” Huffington put on a pained expression, then looked back up with a ray of hope. “Could you maybe give me the name of the chap you bought her from? Perhaps he has additional vessels for sale.”

  “It was a fat banker type. Had it on auction. Got it on a writ of foreclosure for debt, he did. Let’s see, the fellow’s name was…Tree-somethin’… Trifold! That’s it.”

  “Thank you, sir! Sorry to have disturbed you,” Huffington called, then nodded to Horace. The six crewmen from Orin’s Pride dipped their oars and pulled toward shore. They were on the scent.

  ≈

  “Good evening, Master Trifold. Might I have a word with you, sir?”

  The rotund financier turned from the door of his opulent uptown office, which he had just secured with a large set of brass keys. He didn’t look impressed with Huffington. Trifold’s bodyguard, a burly chap with a heavy cudgel at his hip, was more responsive to Huffington’s approach; his glare would have given a mounted lancer pause.

  “My office is closed for the day. You can make an appointment tomorrow, but until then, I must bid you good night.” He started up the street, his bodyguard at his heels. Huffington smoothly kept pace.

  “Your pardon, sir,” Huffington said, “but we really must speak now. My lord, Count Norris, is conducting an investigation concerning the sale of a certain vessel, the Lady Belle. You do, of course, know the ship.”

  Trifold frowned. “I purchase and sell a great many things, sir. I do not recall a ship by that name. Excuse me.” He quickened his pace, walking now as fast as an overweight, sedentary man could.

  “Come now, sir,” Huffington said with a thin smile, “you must remember. A small galleon with slim lines, newly refitted. Her master’s name was Parek, I believe.”

  A flash of tension before the façade of indignation closed back over the financier’s piggish features confirmed the man’s association with the pirate.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone by that name. If Count Norris wishes to investigate my business dealings, he is free to do so, after he has acquired a writ from a magistrate. Now, sir, I must bid you good night!”

  “How very fortunate, then, that I procured such a writ before I came.” Huffington slowly withdrew a folded piece of fine, heavy paper from his inner coat pocket and held it out to the financier. The magistrate who had been busy notarizing the seamage’s documents had not even noticed one more slipped into the pile. “Now, we can either discuss this like civilized men, or I can serve this writ and gather my information from the documents I am legally entitled to confiscate from your office. Your choice, Master Trifold.”

  The fat man stopped abruptly and stared at the paper. Huffington could almost see his thoughts churning, trying to determine just how damaging an imperial investigation of his business would be. Huffington had seen the type before, and knew that Trifold had more to lose than the proceeds from one client. He would cough Parek up like a bad oyster, given the right inducement.

  “Well then!” the man blustered as he waved back his growling bodyguard. “I suppose I have some time for you, sir. Let us walk back to my office where we can discuss this in comfort.”

  Huffington smiled as he tucked the writ back into his coat pocket.
“Very good, sir. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  ≈

  “Excuse me, milord, but there’s some…um…people at the door.”

  Emil glanced up from where he sat with Camilla and Cynthia, enjoying an after-dinner glass of port, to see his housekeeper standing in the doorway, her eyes wide and jaw slack.

  “People?” he asked, frowning with worry.

  “Yes, milord.” Her voice reduced to a whisper. “Queer folk, they are, too.”

  “The elves,” Cynthia said with a nervous smile.

  “Excellent!” The count stood and held his arm out for Camilla. She slipped her hand lightly around it. He smiled at her; he’d been afraid that Chula’s information about Parek might cause a setback in her condition, but instead, she actually seemed to be a bit calmer tonight, steadier.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Grembly,” he said as they passed the housekeeper. “That will be all.”

  In the foyer stood the elves, tall and graceful. The two imperial guards, Cynthia’s escort, stared wide-eyed at the pair.

  “How delightful that you could come.” Emil bowed low as Cynthia introduced everyone, then waved the company toward the parlor.

  “We are pleased to attend,” said Xoihe. “Any assistance we can provide Seamage Flaxal Brelak is a worthy request.”

  Emil pulled the doors closed before the imperial guards could follow. His housekeeper was already laying out some more blackbrew and biscuits, and they didn’t even seem to notice they were being excluded again. Norris smiled and latched the door.

  When he turned, Cynthia was already talking softly with the elves, handing them a thick, leather-bound packet. He knew what the packet contained. They had spent most of the afternoon drafting the documents.

  “If you could get this to Southaven quickly, I’ll be forever in your debt,” Cynthia said.

  “We will do this, Seamage Flaxal Brelak, but we require no obligation from you,” Tierl said as she tucked the packet into her robes and smiled, bowing like a willow swaying in a summer breeze. “The burden of our folly rests on your shoulders. Edan is of our creation, after all. The perils you face stem from our thoughtlessness and pride.”

  “The city is a beautiful creation,” Cynthia insisted. “Asking you to destroy it would be like someone asking me to destroy my ships; impossible.”

  “Regardless, we wish you success.” The elves lifted the hoods of their cloaks. Even with their distinctive features out of sight, they possessed a grace that distinguished them from every human in the room.

  “I will deliver your package to Southaven immediately,” Tierl said to Cynthia, “and Xoihe will remain in the city until your task is finished. If we can provide any other service, you have but to ask.”

  “Thank you!” she said as the elves turned toward the door.

  Emil escorted their guests through the foyer to the front entrance. The elves merely bowed their hooded heads and descended the stairs to the street. He watched them walk away, incongruous in their urban surroundings, but so fluid and calm in their movements. He closed the door and turned back to see Camilla and Cynthia emerging from the parlor arm in arm. For the first time Camilla was not the one being supported, but instead was lending her strength to Cynthia, who looked tired but pleased.

  “I’m off to bed, then,” Cynthia said. “I’ve a long day tomorrow.”

  “I’ll go up, too,” Camilla said. She tilted her head up to Emil. He bent to kiss her and was surprised to feel her ardent response. She was feeling better.

  “I won’t be long,” he promised her as he squeezed her hand, then watched them ascend the stairs, trailed by Cynthia’s ever-present guards. He considered how much his life had changed since his first trip to Plume Isle. Today I helped prepare fraudulent documents, coerced a magistrate into signing them, hosted a conspiracy and lied to imperial guards, he thought. It’s not quite the same thrill as stealing a sword and leaping into the sea from the deck of a ship, but in the halls of politics, it might just be the equivalent.

  He turned to the parlor, thinking to tidy up, since he had already dismissed Mrs. Grembly, and perhaps have another glass of port. The rattle of a key in the front door turned him back. Huffington entered, a sly smile on his face.

  “I know where he lives, milord,” he said quietly. “He’s leased a townhouse on the hill. Goes by the name of Torek, now. But several of the residents of his neighborhood have already begun to evacuate. We should act quickly, before he decides to leave as well.”

  “Excellent, Huffington!” He clapped the man on the shoulder, amazed once again at his resourcefulness. “We’ll go to the chief constable first thing in the morning.”

  “Very good, milord,” Huffington responded. “If you don’t mind, sir, it’s been a very long day, and likely to be a bigger one tomorrow. I’d better get some—”

  “You found him.”

  They both turned to see Camilla standing halfway up the stairs, her hands clenched before her. Her face was pale, but set in hard lines, her eyes dark and dangerous.

  “We have, my dear,” Emil said, worried at that expression. “With any luck, they’ll make an arrest tomorrow.”

  “I want to be there, Emil.” There was a cold determination in her voice that he had never heard before, and he knew there would be no arguing with her. “I want to look into his eyes when they drag him off to the guillotine.”

  ≈

  “Hello, Kori,” Farin said with a grin as the pirate-turned-gentleman blinked the sleep from his eyes. “Nice place ya got here. Mind if we come in?”

  “Farin! By the Nine Hells!” Kori’s eyes popped so wide at the sight of the grim-faced pirates on his front stoop that Farin thought the orbs might fall out and roll down the steps onto the street. Kori drew his silk robe tight around his waist and grinned. “Good to see you, mates. Come in, come in!”

  He backed up and held the door open, which was more of an invitation than Farin expected. Farin, Quid, and the sixteen other pirates they were able to round up surged into the narrow entry hall of the townhouse. It was small enough that when Kori finally managed to latch the door, they were so tightly packed that none could have drawn a sword even if they had been wearing one. More than a few hands were resting on dagger hilts, however.

  “Go on upstairs, lads,” Kori directed, pointing to the stairs to the second floor. “Nothin’ down here but the servants’ quarters, kitchen and such. Take that first door on your left to the sittin’ room.”

  “Servants,” one of them muttered as they began climbing. “He’s got servants.”

  “Just two,” Kori protested, following them up. “A maid and a cook. I don’t have a butler or a footman or anything like that.” They all trundled into the long sitting room where Kori joined them. “Somethin’ to drink, lads? The bar’s right over—”

  “What the hells is this?” one of the crew asked, sniffing at a crystal decanter of plum-colored liquid.

  “They call it port. It’s halfway between wine and brandy. Not my favorite, but the blue bloods like to sip it after supper. There’s whiskey, brandy and rum as well, lads. Feel free!”

  “We didn’t come here to drink with you, Kori,” Farin said, though several of the men had already poured themselves glasses and snifters of the high-brow hooch. Soon they ran out of glasses and began drinking straight from the decanters. “We came to find out why you weren’t at Middle Cay, like Parek said you’d be. And here we find you sittin’ in a townhouse, livin’ the high life. We want ta know what the hells happened in the Shattered Isles while we were down the Sand Coast riskin’ our lives for a single hold full of plunder.”

  “We stayed at Middle Cay as long as we could, Farin, but the imperials found us out and we had to go. With Cutthroat laden like she was, we couldn’t hope to outrun a warship, so we cut out of there and headed up to a little
spot for a refit.”

  “Laden,” Farin said, squinting at Kori. “Laden with what?”

  “Oh, blimey, you don’t know!” Kori let out a bark of laughter and grinned like the pirate he was, despite the finery and fancy surroundings. “Sam’s plan worked like a charm, Farin. The sea witch sank two of the emperor’s ships, then got nervous and took off for points south. We pounced on Plume Isle before more imperials could show up and took it like a cheap whore. Stripped it bare and burnt the rest!”

  Mutters broke out, some appreciative, some disbelieving.

  “With a dozen men?” Farin said, scowling at Kori’s claim. “You can’t feed me that, man. She had a fair army of them dark-skinned savages there.”

  “Oh, well, Sam had her own army. She got in tight with a tribe of them flesh eaters and coaxed ‘em into helpin’. Best part was that all they wanted was prisoners. Made a right mess of things, they did, but they didn’t care a bit about the treasure.”

  “Treasure?” A single pin falling to the carpeted floor would have broken the silence.

  “Bloodwind’s treasure!” Kori said. “There was a fair amount of booty to be had, with all the sea witch’s finery, but the real treasure was the chest that was in her quarters. Big enough to choke a sea drake, it was, and full o’ gold and trinkets!”

  “By the hells,” Farin muttered, his own avarice kindled by the claim.

  “Aye, mate. We took every last crown and stuffed Cutthroat so full she’d barely heel in a gale!” Kori paused for a moment and someone handed him one of the decanters. He lifted it and took a healthy swig, then passed it on. “We waited for you. We did! Then some imperial spy found us out and near killed the captain in his sleep, so we hauled anchor and got our arses out of there. There was nothin’ for it, lads. If we’d have stayed, we’d all be swingin’ from yardarms now, and the treasure’d be in the hands of the imperials.”