‘Shut up!’ Nicky said wearily.
But now the scribe rose from his knees, and came nearer to Dow, peering at his face. ‘Yes, I see it has broken you, and I’m glad. I can go to my own grave in peace, knowing that justice has been done. But there is one more tale I must tell first, one message I must pass on to you, if I am to be faithful to my calling. But I know not its meaning.’
Within Dow, the scream was at the limit of breaking, of tearing from his throat – and the old man had more grief to tell? It couldn’t be borne! But he looked at the scribe and asked, ‘What?’
‘Before they burned the Barrel House, when the Ship Kings were parlaying with those inside, they called out something that those watching on from the hills above heard and remembered. They called out that their party was commanded by one Diego of the Diamond, and that if word of his family’s capture should ever be sent to Dow Amber, then it should be known that it was Diego of the Diamond who claimed credit. Except of course he did not capture them. Instead he burned them alive.’
Diego of the Diamond.
In Dow’s mind, silence fell.
*
Nicholas Ostman was a youth not easily unsettled. In all the years that he had served alongside his friend Dow Amber, he had witnessed many a strange and even terrifying sight, and yet held his nerve; the Ice and the fiery cauldron of the Pole, the burning of the Twelfth Kingdom, the attack of the Golden Serpent, to name a few. But he’d never beheld anything quite so disquieting as the change that came over Dow at the naming of Diego; the way the pain and grief vanished from his eyes like a blown out flame, replaced by something black.
The old scribe saw it too, and stepped back fearfully, as if Dow had raised a fist to strike him.
But to Nicky’s amazement, Dow only bent to pick up his pack, then turned away from the Barrel House, as if nothing there was of any interest to him, as if his family did not lie dead and buried in its ashes. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, to Nicky and May. And so severe and freezing was his tone, they followed him without a single question or comment.
Back along the river they went, marching in that same silence, until night fell in the valley and they camped on the riverbank. Nicky and May whispered between themselves as the darkness deepened, but Dow hunched wordless over the fire. ‘Dow?’ asked Nicky at last, cautious. ‘How do you fare?’ To which Dow responded with only a slow, black glance over the flames, his eyes a warning, and Nicky knew he must say no more.
In silence they rose the next day, and began the long journey back to meet the Snout. That night they camped on the shore of Long Lake, and passed by Fallston the following morning, turning west. And on it went, by day and night, with Dow unspeaking, and with Nicky and May increasingly afraid both of him and for him. Had madness claimed their friend? Had grief for his family’s death – and rage at learning who had wrought the massacre – unhinged his mind?
Dow gave no clue. He walked as if unseeing as they climbed back along the winding valleys and through the ruined villages with their grim populations of old men and women. If this was what all New Island was like, thought Nicky to himself, then he would be happy to leave it. But first they must clear Clover Gap and so come safely back to the coast. On the sixth evening after leaving Yellow Bank, they camped at sunset in the eastern shadow of the high pass. Then, at Nicky’s urging, they traversed the saddle at midnight, and in darkness descended the switchback trail to the village on the western side.
His hope was to slip through the town under cover of night, for if they were detained, and Dow refused to break his silence, what then? Nicky and May’s own accents would immediately give them away. They came to the outermost houses, and Nicky’s apprehension rose, for Dow strode on blankly, as if there was no need for stealth. But in the end Nicky would have laughed if he’d dared risk the sound – for when they passed by the commandeered Barrel House, they found only a single soldier, slumped snoring in a chair, a whisky bottle by his side.
By dawn they were down out of the mountains, and by midday they stood unscathed upon the same beach upon which they had landed.
There followed two days of hiding and watching, but then on the second evening the Snout appeared on the horizon, and before sunrise a skiff came in and took them from the beach. After a swift trip across the waters, the ship loomed and friendly hands helped them all back on board. Captain Harp was waiting there, and Jake Tooth, and Nicky’s uncle Johannes, and Nell. All of them were staring at Dow, and when he only stared back, Captain Harp turned in puzzlement to Nicky.
‘Well?’ she asked.
‘His family is dead,’ Nicky replied. ‘It was the Ship Kings. It was—’ he hesitated, glancing at Nell, ‘—it was, we were told, Diego of the Diamond.’
Nell’s hand flew to her mouth and her eyes to Dow, horrified. And at long last Dow stirred. He turned to the captain and in a hoarse voice asked, ‘What have you learned since we parted? Is the War Master here, with the fleet? Has the Ship Kings armada arrived? Has any battle been fought between them yet?’
The captain eyed Dow in perplexed concern. ‘The rival fleets are here, yes, but no engagement has yet taken place. Each side remains in port. But it is expected that at any moment they’ll put to sea.’
‘Good. Then we’re not too late.’
‘Too late for what?’
‘For the battle.’
Agatha Harp was frowning now. ‘But I have no intention of involving the Snout in any such encounter. We have no useful place there. We must return to the Twin Isles. Dreadful news has come from home that you do not yet know about, and we—’
‘No. We stay here,’ said Dow, and there was not even the contemplation of refusal in his tone. ‘We’ll sail west for now, beyond sight of land, and then head south to wait for the fleets to embark. And when they do, we’ll join the Twin Islands side.’
‘But—’ Agatha Harp seemed caught between outrage and confusion. ‘Why?’
‘It’s simple,’ said Dow. And Nicky, watching on, saw the unspeakable thing flare in his eyes once more. ‘There’s a Ship King I want to kill.’
15. FINAL MANOEUVRES
Dow had learned a new thing: that rage could be an enduring emotion. He’d known anger before, of course, but always it had been a momentary passion, hot, yet quick to fade. But the anger that had held him silent for the six-day walk across New Island, and which possessed him still, was different.
It wasn’t hot at all, but icy, the very opposite of passion. And it did not fade or lose its focus; it was unyielding, bent rigorously upon a single object. All other concerns, all loves or duties or friendships, were secondary. Anger wasn’t even the word for it. It was wrath.
And only one thing could satisfy it: to kill Diego of the Diamond with his own hands.
Given that fact, the rest was straightforward. To kill Diego, Dow first must find him, and the only place he could be sure of doing so would be on the high deck of the Chloe, which Diego now captained. And the only place Dow could be sure of finding the Chloe would be in the midst of the Ship Kings armada. And the only way to meet that armada would be in the coming battle. Hence, the Snout must fight.
Any other detail was mere distraction.
Even Nell.
She followed him down to their cabin after his announcement, and shut the door behind her. ‘It’s true about Diego? He did that?’
Dow had stripped off his travel-worn shirt and was pouring water into the basin. He nodded, and as he scrubbed himself he described in terse, flat tones all that had transpired in Yellow Bank.
‘He’s gone mad,’ she whispered at the tale’s end. ‘I know he hates you – that he hates us – but families, children, burned? I would never have dreamed he could be capable of such cruelty.’
‘He’ll know more of cruelty soon enough,’ Dow responded, tugging on a clean shirt.
‘You truly mean to do this then? But . . . it’s absurd. Even if we fight in this battle, you can’t be sure of encountering the Chloe amid so many other ships
, let alone of coming face to face with Diego.’
Dow said, ‘I’m sure.’
‘How can you be?’
‘We will meet, he and I, no matter if there’s a thousand ships, or ten thousand.’ The certainty was like the glint of a blade in his mind, as if even fortune would bend to his will. ‘It’s fated now.’
Nell frowned. ‘I don’t think it’s wise to speak that way. Fate is not a tool to summon whenever you want.’
‘Why not?’ Bitterness flashed in Dow a moment. ‘It has ruled me from the start, whether I like it or not; for once, it can serve me in turn.’
She clutched his hand. ‘Listen, I know how much you must blame yourself for what happened. But you can’t let grief overcome you, you can’t let it force you into foolish actions that risk other people’s lives. I know, I’ve been through this—’
He cut her off coldly. ‘Diego is responsible for what happened. No one else. And whatever price must be paid to kill him, I’ll pay it. You of all people should be glad, after the things he’s done to you. But if you only want to protect him . . . then we having nothing to talk about.’
At which Nell pressed her lips together, a blush of anger on her cheek, and put his hand aside with deliberation. ‘You’re in pain – and this is too small a room to grieve in with unwanted company. If you like, I can sleep somewhere else for a while.’
Dow only nodded, hardly even seeing her, so bright was the vision in his mind, of Diego dead and bleeding on the Chloe’s high deck.
She went away.
*
Later, as Dow lay flat on his bunk, hands behind his head, sleepless, a soft knocking came on the door, and then Johannes’ voice, concerned and enquiring after him. Another friend offering solace.
Dow didn’t respond. Solace was of no use to him, and he knew too that Johannes would only try to sway his resolve regarding Diego, just as Nell had. Vengeance was something quite alien to the blacksmith’s gentle heart, so there was no point in arguing it, or trying to explain why death was the only fitting answer.
The knocking stopped, and Johannes departed. But still sleep would not come to Dow, even though he was exhausted. Yet he’d been able to sleep soundly enough, despite his wrath, on the long walk back from Yellow Bank, so why not now?
Finally he realised; it was because he was listening too closely to the ship, feeling unconsciously for its every motion, alert to every creak.
It was, he recognised, an intuition of command. Common sailors and junior officers might slumber in peace when at sea, heedless of how their ships fared, but captains could never let vigilance slips, could never not know what their ships were doing.
At last he rose. Digging into his sea chest, he pulled out his officer’s dress coat and put it on. He tidied his hair, pressed the coat flat against his chest, then strode sternly to the high deck.
Agatha Harp was there, along with Jake Tooth. And under a grey sky the ship was heading west out to sea, just as Dow had ordered.
The captain regarded him coolly as he came up. There had been sympathy in her when she’d first been told of Yellow Bank. There was no sympathy in her now. ‘We bear west, as you see,’ she said crisply. ‘Though you should know that I’m within an inch of ordering that we simply keep on west, and make for the Twin Isles, and Dow Amber be damned.’
By the wheel, Jake guffawed.
‘Then why haven’t you?’ Dow asked.
She stifled a sigh. ‘Because Dow Amber can’t simply be damned.’ Her gaze narrowed on him. ‘But this is the second time you’ve spoken as if you and not I command this vessel. Do not push me to a third, Dow. No good will come of it. And if this is how you plan to act when you become a real captain, then beware. This crew will follow you for a time, because of the wondrous things you’ve done. But if you use them carelessly, as I think you do now, and spend their lives cheaply, then even the most admiring crew will turn on you one day.’
Dow said nothing, only stared forward over the bow. Whatever the truth of such words, until Diego was dead, they were meaningless.
‘You are deaf to wisdom, I see. Very well. For the present, we will remain in New Island waters, and seek battle – though I assure you, I’ve agreed to this not merely for your sake!’ The captain turned to the harpooner. ‘I’m going below. The ship is yours, Jake.’ And wrapped in proud disdain, Agatha Harp departed.
There was a lengthy silence on the high deck. The Snout sailed on westwards.
Finally Jake Tooth laughed aloud. ‘A boy not yet twenty as ship’s commander! Ha!’ After which he glanced sidelong at Dow. ‘She’s right, you know. You’re not a captain’s bootlace yet.’
Still, Dow was silent.
The harpooner grinned scornfully. ‘It might interest you to know the real reason the captain has agreed to partake in the coming battle, against her own instinct – and it’s nothing to do with hunting this Diego of yours. It’s because she knows the rest of us are eager to fight – and we are eager because of the news from home. We are Twin Islanders by blood, after all.’
Dow was moved finally to respond. Agatha Harp too had mentioned something of bad news from the Twin Isles. ‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘Ah. Now you’re interested.’ But for once the harpooner’s loutish smile faded as he considered the question. ‘A calamity, in truth. We learned of it while south of here. We put men ashore near Port Tyler and sent them into the town to mingle there among the crews of the War Master’s fleet, and gather what news they might. And thus we heard the tale. In short, there was, some months ago, an attack on the Great Atoll.’
Dow started, his attention caught finally. ‘An attack? But that’s impossible.’
‘So I would’ve thought myself,’ said Jake. Then he heaved a sigh. ‘But they are a cunning foe, the Ship Kings. Has not this war proved it time and time again? Many are the days we’ve thought we had them beaten, only to learn it is not so. And they are daring sailors too, for all their arrogance. Consider our voyage across the Wilderness – we thought ourselves fearless to sail there, where so few have sailed in this age. Well, it seems that the Ship Kings have been fearless too, and likewise crossed the Outer Ocean, only in the other direction, and not once, but many times, to approach the Labyrinth Corridors, undetected, from the west.’
Dow blinked to absorb this. Not once across the Wilderness, but many times! ‘Even so,’ he objected, ‘there’s no way through the Corridors coming from the west. How did they get to the Atoll?’
‘It was not by capturing a pilot,’ said the harpooner, ‘as we were led to believe they were attempting. Indeed, I wonder if such reports were no more than a ruse to divert us. For it’s clear now that they were long plotting to enter the maze by their own route. Yes, as you say, in forty years of exploring the Labyrinth, we found no west way. And truly, there was no such path. What we hadn’t considered, however, was that a path might be made.
‘Which is what the Ship Kings have done. In the western fringes of the maze, where our vigilance has always been the lightest, they have worked in secrecy for what must have been many months, mapping a route inwards through the reefs. And every time they came to a dead end, or to a gap too narrow for a battleship to pass through, they have put men upon the reefs, and cut a new or a wider passage through the coral by hand.
‘By hand! The labour involved must have been unimaginable; nevertheless, the thing was achieved, and a path carved through to the inner sea. And it seems that even as we set out west across the Wilderness in search of Banishment, a Ship Kings battle fleet on the opposite heading had already completed the crossing and was nearing the Labyrinth.’
‘It was no great armada, by all accounts, no more than twenty ships – but they were enough, for each was crowded with marine troops, several thousand in all. They passed through the maze, and fell upon the Atoll by night. Black Sands was never built to withstand such an attack; the Corridors themselves were supposed to be all the defence ever needed. The town was overrun, the shipyards burned, and
half the population put to the sword.
‘Defeat was not total, mind. As is obvious, the War Master survived, else he would not be here now. He and the Mistress Superior and their guard retreated to the House of the Lagoon, casting down the great pier as they went, so that the Ship Kings could not follow. Then the surviving townsfolk rallied at last, and the enemy was forced to withdraw. Also, most of our fleet, being elsewhere, was unharmed. But the Ship Kings victory was mighty even so, and its worst effects are yet to be seen. For the great iron foundry was razed, and all the smiths and engineers – the entire body of the Ironmongers Guild – were either killed in its downfall, or took their own lives rather than be taken prisoner.
‘Think on what that means, Mr Amber. Yes, the Atoll is still ours; our supply of timber still lies preserved on the lagoon floor, and the town and the foundry can be rebuilt. But the ironmongers, the engineers, all those who knew the deep secrets of our metals and engines – they are dead and cannot be replaced! The knowledge is lost! Or, at least, it is lost for as long as it takes to be rediscovered, and who can say when that will be?
‘Do you grasp how desperate this makes the coming battle, for our side? I recall that back in Black Sands the War Master told us that we did not need to win such an engagement, that it was vital only that we not lose it. Well, it is triply vital now; for if the Ship Kings were indeed to triumph, and drive us from New Island, then they will have timber again to fill their shipyards, just at the exact moment that we will find it impossible to make up our own losses. The war will turn.
‘And that is why most of us on board are so eager to stay and fight. Not for you, nor for any love of the War Master and his regime, but because this has become a battle for our very survival once more. All lesser disputes must be put aside, until it is seen if it is the Twin Isles or the Ship Kings who prevail.’
Dow considered all of this through the lens of his own fixed intentions, and despite his shock at the news about the Atoll, and his appreciation of the stakes that had now been raised, he saw mainly that none of it would hinder him in his quest for Diego. He said, ‘And yet the captain would rather sail home?’
The War of the Four Isles Page 32