by John Marco
"Watch yourself," Biagio warned. "I have indulged you this much because you've been so loyal. But do not forget whom you're addressing."
The Inquisitor colored. "Forgive me," he said. "I meant no offense, my lord. It's just that I'm concerned. Please, I beg you. Tell me where you will you go after Crote."
"You are Roshann, Dakel," said Biagio. "So you will understand this. I cannot risk telling you everything. I will not say where I am going after Crote." He looked at the younger man carefully. "You see, a child is never so frightened as when his parents are afraid. It is like that for rulers, too. The city must never know that I am gone, and they must never know where I am. So I will not tell you, Dakel, because I cannot risk any loose tongues."
"If that is your decision."
"It is." Biagio put a hand to Dakel's face. "Do as I ask. I have made some arrangements with my staff. They know you will be ruling in my stead. I give you full authority, my friend. Keep the Protectorate alive. Summon anyone you wish before your tribunal, except the House of Gayle. Use all the powers of your office. Execute whomever you must, and make certain the Empire believes we are in control."
Dakel took Biagio's hand from his cheek and kissed it. "I will make you proud, my lord," he said. "I will do as you ask."
"And whatever happens, keep a hold on the throne. When I return--if I return--I will truly be emperor."
"As you command."
Renato Biagio reached out and clasped Dakel's frozen hand tightly. He said, "Now you are acting emperor, my friend. And may all the angels of heaven defend you."
"Push, damn it!" ranted Kasrin.
"I am pushing!" Laney retorted angrily. The first officer of the Dread Sovereign had his shoulder against an enormous crate, beads of sweat popping on his forehead as he strained to shove it forward. Beside him were three other crewmen, all in the same position.
"Get on the winch!" Kasrin bellowed. At the other end of the loading plank another team of men worked the ship's winch fighting desperately to get their heavy cargo aboard. The rope and plank groaned with effort threatening to snap, and Kasrin shook his head angrily cursing Biagio and the men from the war labs. As promised, the labs had delivered the cannon fuel. But the huge iron carriage that had brought the cargo had left it unceremoniously on the dock, and the harbor had no loading arm for lifting such a large item aboard a ship. Usually, dreadnoughts were put in to the main harbor back in the city, where there were workmen and tools for such specialized jobs. Not so in this tiny fishing village. Now the gigantic crate hung suspended over the water halfway between the dock and the Dread Sovereign. The loading plank bowed beneath its weight, and all the men the ship could spare were lending their muscle to the job. Kasrin watched the giant box teeter sideways. "Goddamn it, you're losing it!" he thundered.
"Well get over here, then!" grumbled Laney.
Kasrin hurried up the plank, crowding in next to Laney and the others as they tried to right the tipping crate. It was like pushing against a mountain. The crate held four huge cannisters full of cannon fuel, a highly unstable substance that demanded careful treatment. One false move could blow them all to bits.
"Son of a bitch," he said, fighting against the immovable weight. The exertion made his muscles scream. Next to him, Laney was shaking with effort, sweating and swearing as he tried to heave the crate up the plank. At last it gave an inch, then another, until it slowly straightened out. Kasrin let himself take a breath. For the moment, the threat of losing their cargo had passed.
"Damn it to hell," snapped Kasrin. "Leave it to Biagio to hand us this mess."
He had expected some help with the delivery, but the men from the war labs had merely dropped their parcel and departed, not wanting to be seen. Kasrin knew it was part of Biagio's secrecy and that furtiveness was necessary, but the facts didn't ease his temper. His crew was still hard at work getting the Dread Sovereign sea-ready, and Biagio himself was very late. The emperor was supposed to be on board hours ago. If they were to set sail at dawn as planned . . .
As had become his habit recently, Kasrin gazed down the dock looking for his passenger. He wondered if Biagio were coming at all. Maybe he'd been discovered, or maybe this was all some terrible ruse, some vengeance he had cooked up with Nicabar.
No, Kasrin told himself. He'll be here.
"We need more ropes," said Laney, breaking Kasrin's thoughts. "It's too heavy for just the winch."
Kasrin nodded sullenly. The dreadnought's loading winch was meant for cargo far less weighty than the gargantuan crate. He grumbled another string of curses as he studied the huge wooden box. All his men were busy with other duties, readying instruments and riggings and the Sovereign's numerous sails. But they wouldn't be going anywhere unless they got the fuel aboard. The flame cannons were their only chance against the Fearless.
"Get some more lines around it," he agreed. "Taylar, take whomever you need. Just get it on board."
"Aye, sir," said the young midshipman, then gingerly climbed over the crate and scrambled up the cargo plank. Kasrin heard him call for more ropes and men, then decided to take a much-needed break. He walked down the plank and onto the docks, taking a deep breath of salty air. As expected, Laney followed him off the plank.
"We'll get it," said Laney. "It's just a crate, after all."
"It's like moving a city," retorted Kasrin. "I should have thought about this. I should have realized we couldn't get the damn fuel aboard out of the shipyards."
"We'll get it," said Laney again, more forcefully this time. "Don't worry about that. Worry about keeping us alive when we get to Crote."
"Right," Kasrin chuckled. "That's going to be the real trick, eh? The second Jelena's schooners spot us we're going to be surrounded. I just hope Biagio knows what he's doing."
"I just hope he shows," said Laney darkly. The officer peered down the murky lane leading to the Sovereign, but there was still no sign of the emperor. "He'd better get here quick if he doesn't want anyone seeing him." "He'll be here," said Kasrin. "I saw his face, Laney. He wasn't lying." The officer shrugged. "If you say so. But it all seems crazy to me. He's the emperor. What does he need us for?"
Kasrin rolled his eyes. He had tried to explain it to his friend, but obviously he hadn't been convincing. Still, he didn't blame Laney for his skepticism. The whole idea sounded insane, even to Kasrin. But in the end, he knew one thing from his meeting with Biagio. "We're all he's got," whispered Kasrin.
It was a crazy situation. His crew had a million questions and Kasrin had no answers. He only knew that Biagio wanted peace with Liss, and that had been enough to convince Kasrin to roll the dice. Luckily, his crew had agreed. As anxious as their captain to redeem their ruined reputations, they all ached for the chance to sink Nicabar.
Laney started back up the plank, but Kasrin grabbed his sleeve. "Wait," said the captain. "Look."
A figure materialized from the mist, his long grey coat concealing most of his body. But Kasrin knew from the mane of golden hair that it had to be Biagio.
He waved at the figure but received no reply. Biagio seemed to float closer, like he had summoned the mists himself. As he drew nearer, Kasrin could see the lines of fatigue cutting his face. When he was only a few paces from them, he offered a small nod.
Laney asked, "Should I bow or something?"
"Don't do anything," Kasrin cautioned. "We don't want the whole world knowing about our passenger."
Emperor Biagio stepped up to the seamen and flashed one of his characteristic smiles. He seemed wholly undisturbed by his surroundings, though he did look out of place. His coat was plain but his shirt was expensive, and he still wore a collection of rings that twinkled magically. He had pulled his luxurious hair into a long ponytail that bobbed as he walked, and when Kasrin looked down he saw the same perfectly polished shoes the emperor had worn the day before, reflecting the moonlight. Biagio's gaze flicked to the Dread Sovereign. "That is your ship, yes?" he asked.
"The Dread Sovereign," replied Kasri
n. He gestured at Laney. "This is my first officer, Lieutenant Commander Laney."
"An honor to meet you, Lord Emperor," Laney said nervously.
Biagio examined Laney as if he were a lab specimen. "Do you follow Captain Kasrin without question, Commander?" he asked.
Laney blanched. "Of course, Lord Emperor."
"Good," declared Biagio. "Because there is much ahead of you, ahead of all of us. I need to know that the captain's crew is as committed to my venture as he is. So . . ." Biagio looked at the crate blocking the loading plank. "Let's get on board, shall we? I want to make certain we leave before dawn." He strode toward the plank and the working men, who had fixed another two ropes around the crate and were straining to pull it aboard. "The fuel, I assume?" he asked.
"It arrived about an hour ago," said Kasrin. "But the men who delivered it wouldn't help get it aboard. We've been trying ever since."
Biagio detected the venom in Kasrin's tone. "I promised you the fuel for your cannons, Kasrin. I said nothing about getting it on board. You're the captain. Aren't you responsible for keeping your ship in order?"
"Yes, but--"
"Let's just get aboard," said Biagio. He looked around and spotted the gangway at the bow. A small collection of seamen were already gathering there. He headed for it without being invited, waving at Kasrin to follow. "Come along."
Kasrin chased after Biagio, thundering up the gangway and onto the bow of his dreadnought. Biagio was looking around surveying the warship. All around buzzed eager seamen anxious to get a look at the emperor, and the din of effort made Biagio nod, pleased with what he saw.
"Very good," he acknowledged. "Things seem to be moving along."
"What do you know about ships?"
"More than you might think, Captain." The emperor grinned at him. "The Dread Sovereign is yours to command. But the mission is mine. Remember that."
There was an edge to Biagio's words that Kasrin understood perfectly. He nodded.
"Now," said Biagio, rubbing his hands together. "Will you be ready to get underway at dawn?"
"If we can get the fuel aboard, yes. We don't have to load it into the cannons to disembark. We can do that once we're under sail. It's about a two-day trip to Crote. That should give us plenty of time to get everything else in order." He sighed, looking around his vessel. "Jelena isn't going to welcome us with open arms."
"I should say not," agreed Biagio. "But she won't make a move once she learns I'm aboard. Neither will her captains. We'll be safe enough, Kasrin, don't worry."
Lately, Kasrin worried about everything, and Biagio's confidence did nothing to allay his fears. Over the ship's railing he watched as Laney and the others managed to pull the fuel crate aboard an inch at a time. It was just one of many problems Kasrin hadn't foreseen. Sailing into a lion's mouth suddenly seemed remarkably stupid.
Biagio slept.
He had been taken belowdecks by Kasrin and shown his private quarters, a cramped little cabin barely the size of a closet. The room had a desk, one oil lamp, a bunk, and very little else. For Biagio, who had expected meager conditions, the room was sufficient, and when he spied the bunk he collapsed into it, falling into a deep slumber. He slept unbroken for two hours not hearing the sounds of the men working above him, not even dreaming. Then, as a shadow crossed his eyelids, he suddenly awoke. Captain Kasrin was staring down at him.
"I knocked but you didn't answer," said the captain. His words seemed garbled to Biagio, who was still half asleep. Biagio shook his head, coughing to clear his throat.
"Is it morning already?"
"No," said Kasrin. "You've only been down for a couple of hours."
"Is there some problem?"
"No problem. I just thought you might want to come above for a few minutes, address the crew."
"Address the crew? What for?"
Captain Kasrin frowned. "Lord Emperor, my men are going on a dangerous mission for you. I've told them what's expected, but it would be good for morale if you spoke to them yourself."
It seemed like such a petty request, and Biagio was weary beyond words. He was about to growl at Kasrin, then abruptly stopped himself realizing the captain was right. He remembered all the times he'd called his Roshann agents together for briefings, and how valuable his words had been. It might indeed be good for the crew to hear some rousing speech.
"Yes," agreed Biagio wearily. "All right, then."
He was still dressed and even had his shoes on, so he let Kasrin guide him out of the chamber and above decks, where the men were still at work readying the dreadnought for her voyage. Biagio noticed that they had finally gotten the gigantic crate of cannon fuel aboard. It rested in the middle of the deck, one side pried open to reveal four tall metal cylinders packed with straw. As the seamen recognized Biagio, they stopped working, eyeing him inquisitively. A terrible feeling of awkwardness overcame him. He was at his best operating behind the scenes, planning in the shadows, or when addressing others of his own noble ilk. Talking to common people had never been part of his career. He fidgeted as Kasrin gathered the men. Sailors in the rigging slid down to hear Biagio's words. Officers straightened their uniforms and stepped in closer. Biagio felt his hands begin to sweat.
Easy, he scolded himself. They're just like servants.
He'd spoken to servants before. In fact, he'd sent hundreds of people to their deaths. But that was in the heady days of Arkus and Bovadin's drug, and the combination of the two had made him iron-fisted. Now he was just damnably human, like the seamen surrounding him.
"Yes, well," he began awkwardly. "Captain Kasrin thought I should speak to you all, to tell you what we're about to face. The first thing I should probably say is that I'm very pleased to be aboard. You're all doing me a great service." He paused, gauging the response of his audience. To his great surprise, a few gave him encouraging smiles. "You're doing a service for the Empire as well," he went on, his voice growing stronger. "I can't promise you that we'll all come through this alive, but the cause we're fighting for is good and just. I know that might be hard for you to believe, coming from me. But you had the strength to side with Captain Kasrin against Nicabar. You know that the war against Liss is wrong, and must be stopped for the sake of our Empire."
There was a general chorus of agreement. Kasrin and his first officer Laney were looking at Biagio intensely. Like the rest of their crew, they wanted to know if they'd made the right decision to trust their nefarious passenger. Now more than ever, they needed a leader. Biagio stretched out his arms dramatically.
"All of you are participating in a great turning point of the Empire," he declared. "What we do in the coming weeks will decide the destiny of your children. Peace with Liss is a great imperative, a cornerstone of a secure future. But it won't be enough. There will be other things this crew will be called upon to do. I've already told Captain Kasrin that and he has put his trust in me. I only ask you to do your duty, to remain loyal to Kasrin and to me, and to believe me when I tell you that this secret work of ours is vital."
The crew of the Sovereign stared at Biagio blankly. Biagio cleared his throat.
"That is all, "he said.
His speech ended, the crew went back to their labors. Biagio turned to Kasrin and grinned.
"Well? How was that?"
"Good enough. I just hope you meant what you said."
Then Kasrin walked away, leaving Biagio in the center of the deck.
"I meant every word of it," said Biagio somberly.
Now he needed to prove it.
SEVEN
The House of Lotts stood on the sea far from the uneasy border that Aramoor shared with Talistan. It was a remarkable home, built like a tiny castle, and in better days had been a happy place. In the time before the usurping, the Lotts family had stood firm with the Vantrans, and had even fought against Talistan in the battle for independence. The House of Lotts had a rich and royal history, and the family that still occupied the castle was proud of their past and achievements.
Despite the occupation of their land, despite their outward appearances of loyalty to the Gayles, they still loved Aramoor, and they still yearned for the freedom of their homeland.
But they were fewer now, those with the name Lotts, and in these days of suspicion and fear they were quickly becoming extinct. Governor Leth was supreme in Aramoor, and the entire country was under the heel of Talistan. It didn't matter who had a royal pedigree or who had served with honor in the past. In these dark days of overlords, the important thing was obedience. Those who stood with Leth were safe, at least outwardly, and were allowed to keep their lands and titles. If a man paid the exorbitant taxes and didn't mind his daughters being brutalized and his sons used as slaves, then he could enjoy the "protection" of Governor Leth.
For those who opposed the governor, life was less comfortable. For those who spoke out against his rule, there was hardship and payback and prison. And for nobles, there was house arrest.
Del Lotts knew firsthand the awful drudgery of being imprisoned in his own home. Since speaking out against the governor, he had the gilded cage of his family castle to occupy him. Forbidden to step off his property, Del had contact with few people, and even his father didn't have the influence to lift his sentence. Someday, when his father died, Del would be the head of the House of Lotts, but that didn't mean much anymore. Aramoorian nobles had title but no privileges. They were merely figureheads, used by Talistan to afford a semblance of stability.
But Del Lotts wasn't born to be a puppet. He was hotheaded, like his late brother Dinadin, and the path he had chosen had gotten him in trouble.
With the curtains wide open, Del hunched over his desk in his bedchamber furiously penning a note. Next to him stood Alain, his twelve-year-old brother, waiting for him to finish. Del kept one eye on the window as he wrote, scribbling down his message as quickly as he could. He didn't know how much time he had left, or even if Leth's men were coming. He knew only what his friend Roice had told him--that his refusal to retract his statements about slavery had earned him an arrest warrant. Even now Leth's soldiers might be riding out of Aramoor castle ready to drag him from his home in chains. If Roice were to be believed, and Roice was never wrong about such things, then his time was short. He had to get the message to Jahl Rob swiftly. And there was only one person he trusted with it.