Anya walked up to him, and balanced in the palm of her hand was a tiny ball of flickering fire.
Anya nodded.
It seemed like they had been walking for hours, as they staggered along the beach, back towards the ships. Anya had maintained her solid appearance, and Jorse found it oddly comforting—and vaguely disturbing. As he often did when something was bothering him he changed the subject.
She was silent for quite some time before she replied.
By the time Jorse arrived at the rickety pier, Anya’s footprints had long since stopped showing in the sand but he still felt her hand in his. He staggered back to his bed well after dark. The red moon Hades had just set and the blue moon Elysium had risen no more than an hour prior. Elysium was Selene’s moon, and when it was up he felt as if it watched him, coldly and dispassionately. Of the four, however, only Elysium felt alive. The rest were just lumps of lifeless rock.
The knock at his cabin door woke him.
“First light, Captain. Ye asked us te call ye.”
“Very good.” He blinked sleep out of his eyes, lit the small hanging lantern. “Tell the cook to send up my breakfast while I shave and clean up.”
“Aye, sir.” The feet retreated and Jorse looked down at the pan of water he had set aside for his morning shave. He had long since given up on growing a beard. The pan of water was rimmed with ice, and he shuddered. Then a thought came to him. Just a trickle of concentration, a tiny flicker of plasma. The water was steaming and he smiled.
The Dagfred met them as they cleared the small cove and the three ships turned north, and then west, into the direction of the setting sun. The two Raiders and the merchantman now had an addition. From the peak of each mainmast flew a bold pennant with a sable field set with silver edging, and in the center, rearing on its hind legs was a silver griffin.
~~~
“Land ho!” The lookout’s shout was more than welcome. “Fine on the starboard bow!
“Signal the other ships, Mister Idzy. Land in sight.”
The First Mate was grinning broadly. “Aye, sir. Bout time.”
“Aye, Mister Idzy. It is surely about time. It has been a long voyage.” The First Mate was already turning away, bellowing orders.
Three more months, it had taken. Three months of ice and storms and endless leagues of tedium since the snug cove on Xicocu, and tacking and tacking and tacking. The winds had been perversely fickle. The water barrels were getting rancid, and the purser had just informed Jorse that very morning, that they were down to their last few lemons. Scurvy was as prevalent on Thalassia as it had been in the wet navies of ancient Earth, Jorse’s strange memories told him, and without the lemons...
He had gone over the figures with Captain Svetla. The half cargo of the Dagfred, when sold, would put that ship into the black, as would the half cargo of the Evening Bird. The whole cargo of the Donner-kind would make all those aboard rich men. All they had to do was to live to get back and spend it. All they had to do... It was enough, and he had plans.
The men were nervous—and rightly so. The Donner-kind and the Evening Bird had dropped anchor well out past the harbor entrance to the major port of Gayaman on the Island of Little Wassaw, out beyond cannon range. Now they were waiting for an official writ of safe passage to enter; and had been waiting all day, in fact. The Dagfred had passed into the wide harbor with no problem and now the sun was setting. One hundred yards away he could see Lin pacing her quarterdeck, nervously. She had turned out to be a good, although sometimes fiery, Captain. Somewhere close to her would be her new cabin boy. Jorse sighed. Sometimes, when it was cold and the bed seemed too big, the night too dark, he missed her. Anya was the one he really loved, but couldn’t hold. It was a frustrating experience for a sixteen year old.
Anya’s thought was gentle, as if she didn’t want to disturb his gloomy ruminations.
The white guard boat was long and skinny, and was moved along by twelve long flat-bladed sweeps. It looked to Jorse, like a huge water bug, skimming along the surface of a pond.
“Ahoy, Donner-kind.” A voice shouted out of the rapidly darkening evening.
“Aye.” He called back.
“Follow us and anchor exactly where we tell you to, do you understand?”
“Aye, we understand.” They weren’t taking any chances with the strangers. Armed warboats in your harbor tended to make everyone nervous. The guard boat spun in its own length, and glided off toward the harbor lights. Mister Idzy was already shouting while men were scrambling to raise the sails.
“Evening Bird?” Jorse said casually. Anya had showed him the trick of making himself heard privately, over vast distances. The first time he’d used it on Lin she had fainted. The second time he used it he could hear her swearing a hundred yards away. She’d mellowed some since then. Some.
“Evening Bird.” Lin growled back.
“The guard boat wants us to follow him and anchor exactly where he says. My guess is that there are several cannons sighted on us at this very moment, waiting for even the slightest excuse to fire. Let’s not give them one, all right?” The growl that came from Lin was unintelligible. “What did you say?”
“I said that I won’t give them a reason to shoot. Evening Bird out.”
Jorse could tell that she’d turned away, and he smiled. She would learn—eventually.
Chapter 10
The two Corsair ships were anchored and secured for the night, and Jorse was not enjoying the rough bobbing boat ride across the harbor to the waiting dignitaries.
Jorse replied dryly.
A very fat man in scarlet robes was waiting on the pier in the flickering light of a thousand golden torches. He was encircled protectively, by a number of very big men with very long swords. All of the men, including the fat man, bore elaborate tattoos on all exposed parts of their golden skinned bodies. This was made more grotesque by the fact that all the men were totally bald, except for a long plaited scalp-lock that hung down from the crown of their heads.
“Ahhh,” the fat man intoned, “you must be Captain Schwendau, the commander of this ahhh, flotilla.” The man had a significant lisp, rouged cheeks, and he bowed deeply. “Welcome to the humble port of Gayaman, of the island nation of Little Wassaw. I am Chancellor Nungpah. Please to come this way.” He turned and led them to a number of strange litters that appeared to be parked near the dock. Each litter, equipped with poles at front and back for carrying, had several cushioned chairs placed upon it, and just as soon a
s Jorse sat down, the rest of the chairs on the litter were whisked away, and four burly men lifted Jorse, the chair and the litter, and proceeded down the cobblestone road in pursuit of the departing Chancellor, through the warm spring night, down streets that smelled of jasmine and strange exotic perfumes.
Jorse couldn’t help but chuckle at Anya’s use of old literature.
As he litters wound through the narrow twisted streets of Gayaman, both Jorse and Anya marveled at the beauty and strangeness of the city. They came upon a marketplace, crowded and jostling with people of all stations and ages. A turbaned man in a small booth shouted and waved. A dealer in exotic animals, in one cage Jorse saw a small furless gray shape with two heads, a long nose and flapping leathery ears on each head. Another cage held a coiled cobra, and he jerked away, instinctively. Jugglers threw flaming balls high into the air and the night was filled with raucous laughter and the thick incense from a dozen different braziers. Food vendors hawked their wares waving, he shuddered, fried tentacles. Lush smiling women with painted, veiled, faces and thin—almost transparent clothes made beckoning gestures to the litter, and Jorse felt his face redden. After a time the litters crested a low hill, and looked down onto the capitol of the island nation, the great Palace of Emperor Jagannath, master of the universe.
The magnificent Palace stood in the center of a bowl shaped valley, surrounded by sumptuous gardens and carefully tended woodlands, all lit by flickering golden torches. The bowl itself must have been ten miles in diameter; the far walls of the bowl cleft as if with a great sword, and through the cleft rushed a dark, fast flowing river. The air had cooled and the night now smelled of the jungle and some strange sweetly scented flowers. The litters bounced on.
Jorse frowned at the sweating back in front of him. How could these men carry such a load for so long without faltering? His question was soon answered, when a porter on the Chancellor’s litter stumbled and fell. One of the huge guards casually cut him down with his massive sword and then calmly kicked the body parts out of the way as another scared looking man took up the empty pole.
The gates to the palace entry were wide enough so that twenty men could walk abreast through them—and they were made of gold. The Chancellor quit his litter and strolled casually through the gates, never bothering to see if Jorse followed. As Jorse passed by, he touched one of the massive doors, and raised an eyebrow at his yellow coated fingers.
Ornate litters done up in fancy red velvet and lace were waiting on the other side of the entry portico to carry the party the last two miles to the Grand Audience Chamber - a white domed building of massive proportions. As the sweating porters deposited their rides in front of the Audience Chamber, Jorse looked back the way they had come.
“Ahhh, Master Schwendau.” The fat obsequious Chamberlain murmured, bowing again. “Please to come this way.” There was a cloying, sickly sweet odor about the man that Jorse found repellant. Anya’s shadowed hand was in his as they stepped through the door, and into the presence of the Emperor.
Emperor Jagannath, the self-proclaimed master of the universe, was a short man swaddled in expensive clothes; very, very expensive clothes. Diamonds and rubies cascaded from his somewhat overstuffed red robe and tunic. Jorse frowned. Just what the hells was that thing he was wearing? He bit his tongue to keep from laughing. It looked like a dress over a pair of breeches. The outfit might have looked better if the Emperor hadn’t been so chubby.
Jorse bowed deeply. “It is an honor to meet you, Your Imperial Majesty.” The man looked up with bored, lifeless black eyes. The same color eyes as a snake — or a shark.
“Yes, it is.” The Emperor had a nasally, high pitched voice that reminded Jorse of a squealing pig.
“Please let me compliment you on your sherwani, Your Imperial Majesty. It looks very dapper on you.” Jorse was sweating; he had about run out of idle chit chat.
“It’s heavy and it makes me sweat.” The nasally voice said. “Nungpah tells me that you awe a boat captain. Why awe you here?” The man had the tact of a boar, and Jorse could taste coppery salty blood in his mouth from biting his tongue so hard.
“I am the commander of a small flotilla of ships, Your Imperial Majesty. We have come here to trade, so that we both may make a profit.” He smiled, and his jaws ached.
“Oh, vewy well.” The Emperor waved a fat negligent hand in some sort of a benediction. “You have ower permission to conduct twade in ower city.” His dark eyes swiveled. “Nungpah, will you have Sissy bring me sweets in my room? I so like it when Sissy feeds me my sweets.”
“At once, Your Imperial Majesty.” The Chancellor bowed, forehead almost touching the polished tile floor.
The Emperor got up and left, without a backward glance, ignoring what would have been a mortal insult in most civilized court behavior.
There was a giggle.
“Are you all right, sir?” Nungpah lisped, a look of curiosity on his round face. His dark eyes surrounded by rolls of fat flesh were intent.
Jorse held up his bloody fingers. “Something bit me.” Nungpah looked shocked. “Perhaps just some small flying pest.”
“...if you would to come this way, we will have some refreshment. You may spend the night in the Palace, or return to your boat if you wish. Here we can provide many, ahhh, diversions, for your pleasure.” He touched Jorse’s arm lightly, with his painted nails. “There is a local leaf that when smoked in a hookah filled with chilled wine, gives a most pleasant experience.” His makeup-lined eyes were narrow and penetrating.
“A sip of wine, perhaps, and then we will see.” Nungpah nodded and led the way.
“There was a family in the east, once, long ago, named Schwendau. Are you by any chance related?” The voice of the Chancellor hadn’t changed, but Jorse was suddenly on guard.
“Perhaps. Why do you ask?”
&nbs
p; “Ahhh. We had some trade with these people, at one time; a very lucrative business. If you were related, perhaps we could continue the association.”
“If I were related, and I’m not saying that I am or am not, I would still have to think on what you have said. Perhaps in a day or two we can speak more of this association.”
Nungpah nodded. “Very good.” His face was unreadable as he turned the corner into a small private dining area, festooned with bright cushions and overlooking the torch-lit gardens. In the distance nightingales sang sweetly, as if their tiny hearts would break.
Jorse stood by the cold marble railing and looked out into the gardens until a soft-footed pretty girl brought a chilled pitcher of wine. Her hair was long, her eyes huge and dark and her clothes so sheer Jorse could see right through them. He blushed furiously, and tried to keep his eyes on her face. Tried.
He sighed, and knew she was right. He raised the chilled glass to his lips.
“I don’t believe that I care for this wine.” Jorse said carefully. “Please bring me an unopened bottle, and an opener. I will do it myself.” He looked down into those wide dark eyes. “What is your name, girl?” The young beauty shook her head and then opened her mouth widely, pointing inside. Her tongue had been cut out.
The Corsairs of Aethalia: A Thalassia novel Page 15