by CJ Whrite
“How long now?” asked Jase, unable to help himself.
“Two hours closer, First Mate.”
Jase felt his ears turning red and cursed himself for his impatience. He promised himself not to say anything else; he was still living down how he had allowed the Swallow’s wheel to slip from his hands, and he did not need ‘anxious-sailor’ added to his repute.
*
The boat made its way around a bend, and Jase gaped at the strangeness that was Drifters’ Hell. The boat glided into and underneath the village, and Jase looked up at the platforms raised into the air passing by overhead, a childlike fascination on his face. In what looked like the centre of the village, a long walkway led down to the water ending in a wooden deck with several short poles at its side. Small boats were tied to the poles, bobbing on the smooth ripples made by their arrival.
“We’ll moor here,” said Brins, indicating the wooded deck.
Jase looked up the walkway and saw two men walking towards the deck. One was tall and wiry with very long legs, an enormous bundle of some sort lifted on his shoulders. He had fair hair that hung past his ears, his fringe almost covering his eyes. His face looked good-natured and used to smiling.
But it was the one walking next to him that grabbed Jase’s attention. He was as tall as the good-natured looking one, but that was where the similarities ended. His hair was long and dark, hanging past his shoulders and covering most of his face. What showed of his face looked hard and cold, and even from the distance, Jase could feel his measured and calculating gaze burning on him. A dark cloak was wrapped around him, covering him from neck to feet, and Jase had to drop his eyes to the man’s feet to make sure that he was walking and not gliding. The way he walked was disconcerting – like a large animal slinking after its prey. Jase gripped the hilt of the knife resting in the small of his back, a prickle of unease running down his spine. He had heard tales of the hard men gathered in Drifters’ Hell, but he had laughed it off. The Swallow had had dealings with dangerous men before, and twice now, Jase had fought pirates, but this man was different. Jase’s blood usually boiled upon meeting strong men, wanting to challenge them for dominance, but now he had the distinct feeling of being a rabbit, and the long knife in his hand might as well be a stick. Brins sat very quietly across from Jase, the oar gripped tightly in his hands.
The two men reached the wooden deck, and the dark one looked down on Jase as he froze in a half-sitting, half-standing position, and then he said in a soft voice, “How’s the arm?”
“The ... the ...” Jase’s mind went blank, and then he looked into the dark eyes and saw the young man he remembered hidden there and said, “Roland?”
“Have I changed that much?” said Roland after a moment of silence.
The wiry one clapped Roland on the back and said, grinning, “Don’t mind him. Although he carries the expression of a man who has stepped in dung, this is actually his its-a-good-day-to-be-alive face. You must be from the Swallow?”
Jase nodded stupidly as he watched the wiry one thumping Roland on the back, waiting for the inevitable explosion.
“Well, I’m Jeklor. I’ll come with if you two don’t mind,” said the wiry one and before neither Brins nor Jase could answer, he pitched his bundle into the rowboat and hopped inside after, the boat tipping alarmingly. “Hurry up, old horse. Times a wasting and I’ve got a business to run,” Jeklor told Roland.
Roland stepped into the boat and said to Jase, “If there is space on the Swallow, may Jeklor sail with? He has business in Darma, and I would appreciate it if he could.”
“Of ... of course,” said Jase, confused by the turn of events. He took the oars, and he and Brins guided the boat away from the deck.
Jase looked into Roland’s silent face, noting the jagged scar running along his left cheek, and a thin white scar above his left eye. He felt ashamed at his manner. Rage had warned him that Roland might have changed, although he did not think that Rage had anticipated a change like this. Rage had thought he might be a broken man, but Roland was anything but broken. He somehow seemed distant, like he was not sitting in front of Jase at all, but Jase had the feeling that Roland was very aware of every thing around him. He had somehow turned ... very dangerous, he thought lamely ...
But, looking closely, he was still the same Roland who had healed his arm, and Jase smiled at Roland and said, “Welcome back, Roland. It’s good to see you again.”
Chapter 19
Ropes coiled down the side of the Swallow and Brins and Jase reached out, pulling the ropes in. A rope ladder followed, the ends just brushing the surface of the ocean. Brins wrapped one of the ropes around Jeklor’s bundle and shouted, “Away!”
As Jeklor’s bundle rose into the air, bumping against the ships side, Roland climbed the ladder. Stepping onto the main deck felt nostalgic, and Roland immediately recognised Rage’s hulking figure, his beard just as thick as he remembered, but now carrying a grey streak or two amongst the black.
Rage showed none of the surprise Jase did and he clapped Roland on the shoulder and then shook his hand. “Glad to see you’re still whole, laddie.”
Roland couldn’t help but grin. It has been a long time since anybody had called him ‘laddie’.
Jeklor stepped on deck after Roland, proclaiming loudly, “Wealthy merchant on deck, (in the future)” he added with a very serious look.
“I take it he’s with you,” said Rage with an amused look.
“Don’t mind him. He’s just caught up in his newest endeavour,” said Roland dryly.
Brins and Jase stepped on deck last, pulling the rope ladder up behind them, sailors at their sides straining against the thick ropes as they pulled the rowing boat up.
“All gear stowed, Captain,” said Jase and walked over, then adding, “Told you he’d be there,” a broad smile on his face.
“Good thing you were right, Jase. Split the night into three watches, we sail on the morning tide.”
“Captain!” said Jase and started bellowing orders at the crew.
“I’m Jeklor, Captain,” said Jeklor and stuck his hand out.
“Welcome to the Swallow, Jeklor. I’m Rage.” Rage turned to Roland. “I’ve prepared a cabin for you, but ...”
“Oh, I can sleep anywhere. Most gracious to allow me to sail with,” said Jeklor in an easy manner. “What’s the boat used for?” he asked, glancing around the ship.
Rage’s beard twitched. “Her name’s the Swallow and she’s a ship – don’t forget it.”
“Right. Have you ever thought about shipping materials – like wool and cotton and clothes and so forth ...”
“Later, Jeklor,” said Roland, smiling to himself at Rage’s indignation. “Rage ...”
“I’ll show you to your cabin. Join me in the Captains Cabin later, Roland,” Rage said, emphasizing Roland’s name.
“My pleasure,” said Roland and he and Rage walked over to the on-deck cabins, leaving Jeklor behind with a confused look on his face.
*
Rage poured a generous measure of some type of golden-brown liquid into two small glass cups, handing one to Roland.
“A spirit they brew up in Allander. Calvana Amber – expensive, but well worth the price.”
He knocked his glass against Roland’s and tipped the contents down his throat, his eyes watering a bit. Roland tipped his glass back and a ball of liquid fire hit his stomach. Coughing and red faced he placed the cup on the table, peering at Rage through steaming eyes.
“An acquired taste,” said Rage serenely and then reached into his pocket, his jolly manner turning serious. He took out Carla’s brooch, the silver shield and leaf looking tiny in his large, calloused hand.
“Thank you,” said Roland, his voice thick as Rage handed him the brooch. Roland ran his finger over the glinting metal, tracing the small leaf on the shield. All the memories crashed through his defences, and he blinked rapidly. Rage intently studied a map on the wall, giving Roland time. Roland clasped the brooch
onto his sash, the opposite side of the zhutou. Blade and shield, he thought. He would become both.
For a long time Roland and Rage talked wantonly, from weather patterns and shifting tides to the price of corn, all the time skirting around Carla’s death and what Roland’s plans were, until Rage finally asked him, “Who killed her, lad?”
Roland’s face tightened slightly, but he showed no more – Li Ho had trained him well. “His name is Sirol Vanderman.”
Rage spluttered. “Vanderman – from that Vanderman family!”
Roland nodded. “I’ve heard that they are well placed – even have ties to the Duke.”
“You have no idea, lad. Their blood ties all the way back to King Louander! The Duke of Darma – Ralpston – is cousin to the king. Soul Vanderman again is cousin to Ralpston. There are many more families than that involved of course, with much closer relations and heavier claims to the throne, but Vanderman carries enough power to make a formidable, if not an untouchable enemy!”
“It makes no difference if he has ties to Nandor, the God of War – I will kill Sirol Vanderman, and possible his whole family if they prove to be a hindrance.”
Roland spoke evenly, not once raising his voice, and not once doubting what he said. Rage poured himself a cup of Calvana Amber and slammed it back, shuddering a little.
“I’m behind you all the way, lad. Doesn’t matter who they are, they are not above paying for what they did. But you have to realise that getting to the Vandermans is not going to be easy.”
“Sirol can die just as easily as I or you. But I would like to have more information on how to get to him.”
“Well,” said Rage, scratching his beard. “The Vanderman family lives in a mansion in Darma, almost the bloody size of the palace, and they have an estate somewhere to the south – cattle and corn an such things. Don’t know much more than that.”
“That makes it simpler,” said Roland. “He can only hide in one of two places.”
“What makes you think he will hide, laddie? The Vandermans act like they own the air we breathe an’ we should be grateful for their generosity of sharing it with us – I doubt he feels shame over what he did, never mind hiding because of it.”
“I wrote him a letter,” said Roland, his lip curling slightly.
“You warned him you are coming?” said Rage astounded. “Don’t know if you’re stupid or clever, lad, but I hope it’s the latter!”
“Not a warning, no – I simply told him the truth,” said Roland ignoring the look on Rage’s face. “Do you know of the Assassins Guild, Rage?”
“The Assassins Guild, eh,” said Rage and poured himself another measure. The lad kept shocking him with the things he said. “Is that what you plan? Taking out a contract on his name – but I warn you now, the gold needed for a high placed family like the Vandermans you will never gather in a lifetime. An’ that’s if the guild doesn’t hand you over to the family themselves – dark guild that is, shouldn’t trust them easily.”
“No, I don’t plan on taking out a contract, but I want to contact them. I’ve heard before that the sewers are a good bet?”
“Don’t rightly know, lad. Never had dealings with them myself, but I’ve heard a few stories about the guild ... dark stories. An’ Darma has expanded much over the last hundred years or so – ye can’t just climb into the sewers and expect to stumble onto them. It’s probably a bloody maze underneath the city, an’ I don’t even know where you can find an entrance to the sewers ... But just what are you planning, laddie?”
“Just to make Sirol pay, Rage,” said Roland. He poured himself a cup of water, sipping it. He did not want his senses dulled by the golden spirit. They sat in silence for a while, Rage with his brow furrowed, Roland studying the Captains Cabin. The walls were covered with maps, routes marked out across the seas and the floor was covered with an old carpet, which Roland guessed used to be scarlet but now was a reddish, brown. Various navigational instruments, still more maps and a piece of rope laid scattered on a desk in the corner. The cabin was sparsely furnished, filled with only the essential; there was no pomp or extravagance. Roland thought it suited Rage well.
“How is business with the Swallow going?” said Roland, and Rage’s furrowed brow immediately smoothed out.
“Good, good. Couldn’t ask fe’ more of the old girl,” said Rage with affection. “As you know, I ship whatever goods are available between the mainland and Darma, but about six months ago or so, I took on an order of sheep. Have you ever spent a month on water with sheep?” He chuckled from the pit of his stomach. “Was right glad when we finally made it to Darma, and the poor Swallow – had to scrub her from stern to bow ...”
Roland smiled along and then he said, “You should lend Jeklor a bit of ear. He doesn’t look trustworthy, but his heart’s in the right place. He’s got big plans, and if it works out, you could add a new route to your trade.”
Rage looked unconvinced and Roland left the matter there. At times, Jeklor was surprisingly ingenious and should Dragon East Apparel come off the ground, there would be many Captains willing to sail for him, and he was sure that Rage would take him serious then.
Roland bade Rage goodnight and left the cabin. The night air was cool, the moon full, and Roland leaned against the mast, looking back in the direction of Drifters’ Hell, stroking the small brooch underneath his cloak absentmindedly. He had felt comfortable in the village, and had come to think of it as home, but he thought that he would probably only visit the place once more to give Li Ho the promised payment. He had been touched when Li Ho had refused the gold, but he would never feel right if he didn’t pay him. And then, after he settled matters with Vanderman, he had plans of his own in Darma.
Chapter 20
Hundreds of tiny orange lights appeared in the night, bobbing in and out of view as the Swallow climbed tall, but gentle swells.
“Land ahead!” called a sailor from the crow’s nest.
Roland and Jeklor stood on the forecastle deck, hands gripping the rail, their expressions very different. Jeklor kept smiling, showing teeth, but Roland revealed a guarded and brewing look on his face as the wind blew his hair back.
“We made it!” whooped Jeklor. “Two years and we’re back! Pretty-serving-girls-looking-for-a-tumble; fresh-bread-and-fine-wine; people-not-looking-to-stab-you-in-the-throat – how I’ve missed you, Darma! And why in the blue blazes do you look like you’ve stepped onto an iron nail?”
Roland forced a thin smile but Jeklor already had his attention fixed on the lookout. “How long before we reach Darma?” he shouted.
“Three, four hours –”
“But the harbour master won’t allow the Swallow to birth at night,” said Rage from behind them.
“How so?” asked Roland as Jeklor choked in disappointment.
“Just the way they do things. Not easy keeping an eye on ships coming in at night – never know what smuggled goods (or people) they might be carrying – so the harbour is only open during daylight ... But, I’ll send Jase and Brins with the boat to take you to land. Might be in your favour to arrive unnoticed ...”
“It seems that I accumulate more and more debts as I go along,” said Roland heavily, while Jeklor beamed at the news.
“Not a favour for you, lad. It’s the least I can do for Carla,” said Rage, sounding oddly bitter. Rage, Jase and Roland had a huge row during the trip. Rage and Jase wanted to accompany Roland on his quest, but Roland would have none of it. He would not – could not – divulge all his plans to them: not because he did not trust them, but if his gamble turned out to be a disaster, he would never forgive himself for dragging them along. Revenge for Carla was only the start, the spark that lit the fire. Danger would increasingly follow him around, and those that had helped him, that wanted to stand with him, would be in the most danger of all.
“I thank you,” said Roland softly.
“Don’t thank me,” said Rage, a steely edge to his voice. “Have I not done enough – do you n
ot trust me, lad?”
“It’s precisely because I trust you, and because you’ve done so much that we will part ways here.”
Rage stared at Roland, but Roland would not give an inch. “I’ll let you know when we are close enough for the boat,” said Rage and turned on his heel, stomping across the deck.
“Well, that was pleasant,” said Jeklor, turning back to watch the bobbing lights.
“You too, Jeklor. I know a tavern where we can stay at, but I will move on my own once there. I don’t want you accompanying me,” said Roland forcefully.
“Wouldn’t want to anyway ... got business of my own,” said Jeklor lightly, but there was a hurt look on his face.
“Understand this, my friend,” said Roland, wearing a troubled expression. He and Jeklor had come a long way, and he needed him to understand – to see reason. “I value you above all, and I will not lead you into danger. The Vandermans are nothing to you, and you should not get involved with them. You must not get involved.”
“How you can say all that straight-faced is beyond me, but I hear you. I will work to spread Dragon East while you do your thing – but should you need help, I’ll be there.”
“Good,” said Roland, feeling relieved.
“But you know, old horse,” said Jeklor, his voice oddly pensive, “it’s not your duty to protect and save everyone. If something happens to me, or Dragon, or Andros, or anyone you know, it is not through a fault of your own. You do not need to carry that responsibility with you.”
*