Dawn found them huddled in masses about the shore, with no supplies and only a few junior officers among them to take charge. Responsibility for this human flotsam had therefore fallen by default on Dow and Jake Tooth; commanders of the only two ships in the harbour. But the harpooner was occupied with the dying Agatha Harp, and so the matter was left to Dow, in consultation with Commander Fidel.
They’d decided that as there was no shelter or food in Stone Port, the refugees should be given a day to recover their wits, and then, minimally supplied from the ships’ stores, be sent on their way to more habitable locales. This very morning, thus, the Twin Islanders had marched off westwards, aiming for Shallow Bay, the nearest harbour thought to still be in Twin Isles hands. And likewise, the Ship Kings had made off across the Claw in boats, heading east towards their own territory.
But at noon Fidel had come to Dow with surprising news. Some of the refugees, Ship Kings and Twin Islanders both, had refused to leave the harbour. They wanted, said their delegates, to stay in Stone Port.
‘But why?’ Dow had asked. He and Fidel were in the Snout’s Great Cabin, for Dow had refused to make his home on the Chloe, even though the captain’s quarters –Vincente’s old quarters – were his for the taking. ‘There’s nothing for them here.’
‘We’re here,’ said Fidel. ‘Or, more correctly, you’re here. You and Nell. With two ships of your own. They want to enlist as your crew.’
Dow had only raised a baffled eyebrow. Enlist as his crew? What did that mean?
Fidel shrugged. ‘They are tired of the war and do not want to go back to it. The Twin Islanders who have stayed are all sympathisers of the peace faction to which your departed Captain Harp belonged; and my own countrymen are swayed by the fact the Nell is here, the last of the Heretics, as they see her.
‘But there’s no mistaking that for both sides it’s your name that has decided them. They speak of your deeds in the maelstrom and the Ice, and in the Wilderness and the Banks too, and in all this they see a meaning. Some call you the Young Admiral, some call you the Scapegoat’s Captain, because Nell is with you; but all believe that if there is any hope to be found in this ravaged world, then it lies with you. They assume that you mean to keep these ships as your own, set apart from the Twin Isles or Ship Kings fleets, and they want to serve under your command.’
Dow was disbelieving. ‘They’d serve together, Ship Kings and Twin Islanders?’
‘They would, for a better life.’
‘But – what better life? What do they think we can do with only two ships?’
Fidel’s expression was innocent. ‘Well, what do you mean to do with these vessels? Fate has delivered them into your hands, after all.’
Dow studied him uneasily. ‘I thought you were a man of science – not of fate.’
The old commander smiled. ‘Ah, but isn’t my very presence here a sign of fortune’s handiwork? There I was, cast into a Valdez dungeon after the ambush of the Chloe, and there I should have stayed. Instead, Diego – of all people – secured my release. Not out of friendship, but as a means of revenge! How it pleased him, to have Captain Vincente’s first officer serving under him now. To sweeten my humiliation, he assigned me to the grisly position of assistant ship’s surgeon. And yet, behold; for all Diego’s troubles, all he has achieved is to reunite you and me once more, who otherwise would most likely never have met again. Is there not a message in that?’
Dow shook his head, refusing to be drawn. He returned to the matter of the refugees. ‘They can all stay if they like, we can hardly force them to go. And if you want to assign them to the ships, then do so. Put them to work on the repairs. But beyond that, I don’t know what to tell them, or what we should do. If there’s hope for us, I can’t see it.’
And so saying, he had escaped to his own small cabin, wanting only to be left alone in his confusion. But afterwards Nell had come to him, and suggested the climb to West Head in the rain.
‘It will clear your head,’ she’d said.
And so he’d gone with her.
Now, on the tower, she looked at him seriously and spoke at last, nodding to the vessels below. ‘So what will you do? You can’t delay a decision forever. Commander Fidel is right. These ships are yours, and these people are yours to lead, if you want them.’
He said, ‘Why do you think I should lead anyone? You’ve seen what kind of leader I am. Everything I’ve set out to do has ended in disaster.’ There was no self-pity in his tone, just the acceptance of truth. Why, all the Heretics would still be alive at Banishment, and the Snout would still be idling safely in the backwaters of the war, if he had left well enough alone at the beginning of all this . . .
But Nell shook her head. ‘You said it yourself: all those other times you were a slave to other people’s purposes. How could anyone lead, when entangled in such webs? That, or you were driven to madness by grief, as in this business with Diego. But that’s all passed now. You are yourself again. And there’s one thing you’ve never had the chance to do: lead without deception, under your own authority, and for the sake of a clear cause that is your own.’
His laugh was low, and hopeless. ‘And what cause is my own now?’
She stared out over the Claw. ‘This is your land. Perhaps you should free it?’
‘Free it?’
‘The Ship Kings have triumphed for now, but whichever side rules here, each will seek to oppress your countrymen. Maybe you could begin resistance against all overlords, with these two ships.’
The scepticism died in Dow. Was that what he should do now? Help his countrymen? In truth, since the death of his family, he’d scarcely thought of the New Islanders as countrymen at all, for now none of them were of his own blood. Strangers to him. But did that mean he should abandon his homeland?
He said, ‘Those castaways down there are tired of war; that’s what they told us. So how could I ask them to start fighting again? And anyway, they’re Twin Islanders and Ship Kings – why would they take up arms for New Island’s sake?’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe if you gathered some of your own folk to join us.’
But Dow knew her too well now; he could see that her argument was an artifice. She had no real belief in freeing New Island. She was speaking only for his sake, to give him hope amid his despair. ‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Could this ever be your cause? To fight for someone else’s homeland, one you don’t even know? Is that what you think you’re meant to do?’
Her gaze was level. ‘No. I don’t feel it in my heart. But what else is there?’
Dow had no answer. And after a while they climbed back down the tower, and descended again to their burdens in the harbour.
*
The next day, the third after the battle, news of the wider world began to reach Stone Port at last. It was borne by New Island fishermen, a few of whom still kept boats off along the inner western arm of the Claw. Their catch was normally destined for Shallow Bay, the last inhabited town on the peninsula, but they had heard of the presence of the two ships at Stone Port, and so had come to sell what fish they might.
Their reports confirmed that the Ship Kings had won a major victory in the battle. The War Master was dead, and everywhere the Twin Islanders were pulling back and abandoning ports that they no longer had vessels enough to defend – Shallow Harbour was soon to be given up, and then Night Flower, leaving only Port Tyler in Twin Isles hands. And it seemed that several large battles had also been fought inland in the recent days, and that the Ship Kings had triumphed in these engagements too. The Twin Islanders were in retreat from many of the lowland towns, and had lost control of the Long River, especially the port of Jacobsville.
But it wasn’t all good news for the Ship Kings. There were accounts claiming that both King Carrasco and King Ferdinand had gone down with their flagships during the Battle of the Headlands, and that even the young Sea Lord Emmanuel was dead, making the victory, great though it was, dearly bought indeed. And further rumour spoke of
rivalry now amid the Ship Kings as to who would rise to the supreme command.
In brief, all was chaos and flux across New Island. Which made Dow wonder.
Nell’s suggestion had lingered with him overnight, and grown potent. Maybe she was right. Maybe a New Island resistance really could be marshalled, especially if all was in upheaval anyway, as Twin Islanders retreated and as Ship Kings argued between themselves over the throne. And if resistance was to begin with someone, why not with Dow himself, and these two ships? And why not here at Stone Port?
As to the ships, the repair work was progressing as well as could be hoped in a tenantless harbour, and both would be reasonably sea-worthy again in a few days, though not battle-worthy; they would need fresh supplies of shot and powder yet.
But Stone Port? Could Dow truly claim it as his own, and found a rebellion here?
It was obvious enough why the port had been left abandoned. Strategically, it only mattered if control of the Claw mattered, and that only mattered if there was trade coming down the Long River to the docks of Lonsmouth. But Lonsmouth was burned, and for most of the war the river had been blockaded by one side or the other, and trade had long since been forced overland to the ports of the east or west coasts.
Now however, after victory, and with the river theirs again, the Ship Kings would want Stone Port back. The question was, was there any hope of holding them off when they came to take it?
That afternoon, Dow set off on a more careful inspection of the harbour and the town. The sea wall, he saw, presented the greatest problem. It had been blown apart in detail during the siege of the fortress, leaving many breaches, and there was no chance of rebuilding it any time soon. It would require hundreds of men, and months of labour. Still, if they sank and heaped obstacles in the breaches – some of their boats, for instance – then maybe they could close at least a few of the gaps to ships, and the others they could cover with cannon fire . . .
But even if the wall could be held, what of Stone Port itself? There was no point defending the harbour if the town could not be made viable again, as a capital of resistance. Dow circled around the shore to study the ruined wharves more closely. Yes, many of the piles, though singed and bare, were solid still, and well founded. A rudimentary pier might be thrown up, and behind that, the first new beginnings of a town . . .
He hesitated then, assailed by a sudden rush of familiarity and recognition. But familiarity with what? Everything he had ever known here was gone. And yet . . . he peered about amid the ash mounds and blackened timbers, comparing angles with the hillside behind; and then he had it. He was standing amid the ruins of the fishing wharf, where all those years ago he and old Nathaniel had delivered their daily catch.
He surrendered to memory for a moment. What a town it had been, so busy, so alive! Could it ever be like that again? Then another impulse struck him. What if . . . but no, it wasn’t possible. Was it? Suddenly eager, he went climbing out across the piles, peering down into the water. No, it wasn’t there, or there . . .
But there!
Twenty feet deep maybe, just visible amid the sunken wreckage, a slender shape lay on the rocky harbour floor. A boat; submerged, but otherwise exactly where he had left it, tied up at the wharf, the evening he’d reported to the Chloe and the governor’s banquet, close to four years ago. A little fishing boat.
The Maelstrom.
Dow stared at it wonderingly. Its mast and rigging must have burned away in the inferno that same night, and a beam from the collapsed dock lay across it, explaining how it came to be drowned, but the hull was intact, preserved by its nicre shell.
Nathaniel’s boat. The boat in which Dow had learned to sail, and in which he had ridden the whirlpool, and so begun everything. With a crane and ropes it could even be raised and repaired and sailed once more.
Was it a sign, it being here?
If a boat could be refloated and re-rigged and sailed again, what about Stone Port, or Lonsmouth, or all of New Island? Could it really be done, starting with two ships and a broken-down sea wall?
Dow didn’t dare hope. But when he returned to the Snout, he ordered a party of men to the docks to begin the Maelstrom’s retrieval.
*
The following day, the fourth since the battle, the outside world intruded upon Stone Port in force. Dow was summoned from work below decks by a cry from the Snout’s lookouts, and when he went topside they were pointing urgently to the ridge that rose behind the town, beyond which the peninsula extended away to the west.
At least two hundred people were standing there, looking down at the ships.
Dow’s first reaction was alarm, thinking them to be Ship Kings marines. But no, he could see children among them. They were civilians. Indeed, they looked like New Islanders, Dow’s own folk.
Then his heart seemed to seize in his chest; for one stood at their head whose size and shape Dow would have known from twice the distance.
It was Boiler Swan.
Dow was over the Snout’s side and into a boat in moments, and drew up at the ruined docks just as Boiler – who’d left his people up on the hillside – reached the same spot. Dow climbed onto the shore and for a long moment the two simply stood amid the wreckage of former days, and stared.
‘Dow,’ breathed the innkeeper at last. ‘Dow Amber. By the Great Ocean.’
‘You’re alive,’ Dow marvelled in return, a glow of true joy waking in him for the first time since the terrible discovery at Yellow Bank. ‘I went to Stromner. I thought you and everyone there must be dead.’
‘Not me,’ grinned Boiler. But then his great red face grew grimmer. ‘And yet many are. Most, indeed, of those you knew in your days with us. It has been a long and barbarous war here.’
Yes . . . Dow could read the truth of that in Boiler himself. The innkeeper’s clothes were little more than rags, and his limbs were scratched and scarred; and while he was still a giant of a man, there was a new gauntness to his scarlet face, and the lines about his eyes had grown deeper with both age and sorrow.
‘Your family?’ Dow asked.
Pain flickered. ‘My daughters live. But Ingrid, alas, did not survive the war’s first winter. There was no food, and the ague took her.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘And your family? Is it true, the awful rumours that have come down from the highlands?’
Dow gave only a mute nod.
Boiler heaved a sigh. ‘It was from Stromner folk that the Ship Kings learned of their location. We were the first place the marines came hunting, after your ancestry was revealed to the world. Most of us fled, but some were caught and put to torture. They soon gave up the name of Yellow Bank.’
The ache of responsibility bit at Dow again. Here was still more suffering to be laid at his door. Yet there seemed to be no blame in the innkeeper. And looking at that familiar face, Dow could not repress another surge of joy. This was Boiler! The one New Islander who still linked Dow to his homeland. Now maybe it was possible. With Boiler at his side, maybe he really could rebuild Stone Port, and begin the revival of all New Island from here.
‘Where have you been since?’ Dow asked. ‘Who are these people with you?’
‘Where have I been? Why, beyond the reach of the Ship Kings and the Twin Islanders alike, that’s where,’ replied the innkeeper. ‘At times that was as far afield as Lonsmouth. We had quite a crowd of us there amid the ruins, before we were driven off. Of late, we’ve eked out a living in the wilds east of Shallow Bay. But no more. When news came that none other than Dow Amber was here in Stone Port, with two battleships of his own, why, I had to gather up my folk – this renegade troop you see with me now – and hurry to join our cause to his!’
Dow shifted uneasily. ‘I’ve been told my name is hated now across New Island.’
Once more, Boiler grew sombre. ‘Aye, there’s truth to that. Even my own people here doubt you, despite my best assurances. But I, at least, have not been so quick to judge. I knew you too well, Dow, to believe
that you would wilfully turn traitor against your own land or your own family.’ But even as he spoke his pale eyebrows were raised in question. ‘I’ve not been wrong in that, have I?’
And Dow was aware of a certain desperation in the innkeeper’s gaze; a sense that Boiler had pitched everything on this one answer.
Dow shook his head. ‘No. It’s too long a story to tell now; but no. If I had known what was happening here, I would have come sooner.’
Boiler studied him a moment longer, searching and intent, then nodded in quiet relief. ‘The longer tale I will wait to be told. But for now – good.’ Then he laughed. ‘So it’s agreed! Me and my renegades will join your crew, and sail with you when you go.’
Dow was taken aback. ‘When I go?’
‘Yes – we are not sailors yet perhaps, but we’ve strong backs, and are eager to learn!’
‘But who said we were leaving Stone Port? It’s a mess now, but I think it could be made defendable again. If we could do that, then we could draw other New Islanders here and—’ He stopped, cut off by the expression on Boiler’s listening face, first puzzlement, then a dawning horror.
‘Dow,’ said the innkeeper in an appalled tone, ‘you can’t mean to stay here?’
‘Why not? There must be others like you. If we could gather them all together . . .’
But Boiler was shaking his great head in admonishment. ‘We’re the last. These wretched few here with me now. There’s no one else left of those who fought. You’re too late, Dow. You’re far too late.’
Dow felt the whole fantasy of liberating his homeland totter. ‘No one else?’
The War of the Four Isles Page 37