Warehouses along the water’s edge were storm beaten and worn, their paint long since scrubbed off by winter winds leaving bare gray boards, and now that the Raider was anchored, Jorse could see chunks missing out of the castle wall, the result of neglect rather than battle. Jorse, Lin and Gorku stood on the high quarterdeck, and surveyed the port.
“I think that we should get ashore as fast as we can, with as many men as we can.” Jorse said nodding at the castle. “We need to get the current owners out of the castle as quickly as possible, and off this island; to do that we will need most of your crew. Lin, I would suggest that you stay...”
“No. Her voice was firm. “I will not miss the fun. I’ll assign a skeleton crew to stay aboard, while the rest of us go to pay a social call. My crew, my call.” She was smiling, and Gorku appeared to be studying the argent clouds. Jorse growled a curse and Lin kissed his cheek. “If Anya can go so can I.” She whispered in his ear. “Don’t be such an old prune.”
Jorse glared at Gorku. “Did you have to revive her spirits quite so completely? A little despondence would have made her much more manageable.”
“Sorry, boss.” Gorku was grinning. “I didn’t know.”
As the boarding party was being assembled, Jorse stood at the stern railing and studied the harbor of what would be his new home. Bowl shaped and circular, it was easily defensible with just two small cannon emplacements, one on either side of the harbor entrance. Add one or two more cannons on the castle, and the harbor would be nearly impregnable. The rest of the coastline was naturally defended by tall cliffs of limestone and granite.
He smiled down at the score of small fishing boats he could see. Fishing boats meant fish, and that meant a fairly clean harbor. The air had a faint hint of chamberpots and corruption, but those smells were mostly masked by the clean scents of the sea, and pine trees, and cooking.
There were two slovenly guards in tarnished, chipped armor waiting, when the party of thirty reached the castle gates.
“Alt.” The second guard mumbled, somewhat dubiously, since the first guard was asleep, his hand clenching an empty wine skin in what appeared to be a death grip. “State cher business.” He blinked his eyes rapidly, obviously trying to focus on the company. He smelled of stale wine and sweat, and the last inch had been snapped off the top of his cheap ceramic-bladed pike.
Jorse held up the official writ proclaiming him duke. “I am the new owner.” The guard managed to focus on the official seal of Aion, and he began to shake. “You are relieved, my good man. Take your fellow there.” Jorse glared at the sleeping guard. “And carry him down to the merchant dock. You will be leaving this island shortly.” The guard stared, stupidly. “MOVE!!” Jorse shouted. The guard jumped, and began to drag his sleeping companion. “I will assign this seaman with the big cutlass.” Jorse indicated one of the crew. “To escort you down to the dock—just so that you don’t get lost.” He turned back to the door and took a deep breath. “Shall we?”
The throne room was somewhat better. Light streamed in through several dirty windows while several more were boarded up. The walls were dark, unadorned, soot tainted stone, and the huge hearth was cold, ashes spilling over the edge and onto a scarred wooden floor that showed the burns of many forgotten coals. Two large gilded chairs, obviously meant for the Duke and Duchess, sat on a small dais at the end of the room. The chairs overlooked a number of long dining tables set round with an odd collection of battered chairs, stools, crates and boxes. The tables themselves were gouged and stained from the remains of old dinners and drinks. A nauseating detritus covered the floor: chicken bones, bits of bread and things so vile-looking that they beggared his imagination. The air smelled of sweat, spilled wine and rotted food. He picked up a rag off the floor, obviously someone’s shirt, and wiped the two big chairs.
“All right everybody; let’s get this show on the road.” Jorse said in a tired voice, sitting down in one of the gilded chairs and draping a leg over the arm. “Lin, please have ten of your men find the royal family and bring them here, right now; every man, woman, child and royal dog. Please have the rest round up the royal troops, army, whatever you might call it. Have them brought here also.”
As all the seamen left, Gorku was fingering his sword, with a slightly nervous look on his face. “Uhhh, boss. There are only three of us, and you don’t even have your staff anymore.”
“Staff?”
“Yeah. He’s pretty good—no, he’s really good. Took out ten bandits all by himself in Aion before they killed him.” Gorku winced as he realized what he had said.
“What?” Lin’s voice was as cold as ice, and both men knew that they were in trouble.
“I, uhh..” Jorse began.
Lin cut him off. “You!” She pointed a finger at Gorku, who seemed to shrink. “Talk!”
The big man’s shoulders sagged. “We were on the trail in Aion, after the Queen. It was pouring rain outside, blacker than my armpit and somehow he knew that there were men moving in the dark to ambush us.”
“Us?” Lin asked.
“Dala, her Uncle Mirek, Jorse, my brother Darko, and me. Anyway, it had been a long day, Darko, Mirek and I were tired and we thought we had a safe, well hidden, cave to sleep in. The next thing we knew there was this crashing out in the darkness: screams and shouts and the sounds of men being thrashed. Then he walks in, as pretty as you want, and says there were only ten. He started to fold up and I caught him. The sword had taken him right here.” Gorku touched his side, where the kidney would be. He was bleeding out. His whole side was soaked in his blood. I’ve seen battles before and I knew he was a dead man, in ten minutes maybe. Then Dala she comes out, all business like, and has us drag him into a back cave; then she kicks us out. There were voices - women’s voices. A few days later he’s up; weak but up. He shoulda been dead.”
Lin walked up and punched Jorse in the arm, and then punched him again. Jorse did nothing. After the fourth punch a woman walked out of the shadows, and took a sobbing Lin gently by the arm and led her from the room.
Gorku turned an astonished look on Jorse. “Who is that? Where did she come from and just what the BLOODY HELLS is going on?”
“She is Anya, she comes from inside me and the truth is; you are now involved in intrigues on a world scale.” Jorse watched his friend chew over that statement. He just didn’t feel like explaining right now; he was too damned tired.
“The Schwendau curse; it’s real then?”
“Yup.”
“And that’s the demon? That’s what everyone was so frightened of?”
“Yup.”
“And she lives inside of you?”
“Yup; in my blood.”
“Then how...?”
“What you see and hear and feel is a manifestation.”
“But she healed you. I heard her that day in the cave.”
“It’s the sort of thing you do for someone you love, Gorku. It kind of proves that she isn’t a demon.”
“She loves you?” Jorse nodded. “And you love her?” Another nod.
The big man just grunted, and Jorse smiled. “You’ll find out yourself, one day.”
“About love or about your demon?”
Jorse just smiled.
The sailors chose that moment to return with the former duke and his family. The duke was corpulent, and the food spotted fuchsia bathrobe he was wearing had trouble covering his massive girth. The straw-hired wife of the duke, his three children, one brother and one sister-in-law, four assorted uncles and aunts and two dogs were slightly less fat, but only slightly. Even the dogs waddled. They all seemed to be screaming at the ten stone faced crewmen, who stood at their sides, arms crossed and impassive
.
“QUIET!!” Jorse bellowed at the top of his lungs. Even the seamen flinched.
“What is the meaning of this?” The duke shouted, stepping forward. From this new proximity, six feet, Jorse could smell the man’s unwashed body, and it made him want to retch. He spread the writ out on the table so that the fat man could read - without touching. The more the fat man read, the whiter his face became. “This is impossible!” He banged a fat fist down on the table. “I’ll have you know that I am a cousin to the Queen herself.” The fat skin jiggled.
Jorse let a mean smile slip across his face. “Who do you think gave me this writ? Now, tell me, who is your closest living relative, excluding the Queen? I believe that she has disavowed you.”
The duke’s mouth worked, like a fish out of water. “Baron Ostred of the port city of Cirknica. He is...”
Jorse cut him off. “Very good. You will go live with him. Departure is immediate.” He studied at the grinning crewmen. “Take this lot down to the dock, and load them all into the merchantman.”
“But...” The former duke stammered. “But the schooner is my private...”
“Not any more it isn’t.” Jorse jerked his thumb at the door. “The dogs go too.”
“But our clothes, our jewels...” The ex-duchess wailed in a piercing voice.
Jorse addressed the seamen. “They go as they stand.” He folded his arms and watched as the sorry procession of weeping former royals left the castle.
“Don’t you think you were a little rough on them?” Lin’s voice, as soft as it was, made him jump and her hand was warm on his shoulder. Her finely boned face, framed by dark hair seemed paler than usual, but still she managed a tentative smile.
“I don’t think so, Lin. Those ‘poor people’ raped this country, and they live like pigs. Now they have to start over; live just like the commons. If they work hard and save, they will make out. If they don’t ...” Jorse shrugged.
Gorku had walked over quietly and Jorse moved off, so that the two could talk privately. There was a commotion in the hallway, and fifty or so unarmed soldiers, in grimy fuchsia uniforms with teal stripes down the sides, were escorted in. Jorse ignored the general clamor.
“Will all the officers step forward?” He said in a harsh voice that brooked no argument. A group of a dozen sullen men stepped forward. Jorse looked at the second, larger group. “Who among you is the highest ranking soldier?”
A thin lanky man stepped forward. “My name is Sergeant Vilim and uhh, I think I am...” He hesitated only a moment before he figured out what was going on. “Uhh.. my Lord.”
“Good. Firstly, I am the new Duke of Dun.” Jorse smiled, and Vilim stepped back involuntarily. “You, Vilim, are in charge here.” He nodded to the larger group of men. “First thing you have to do is to get rid of those uniforms. Get yourselves regular work clothes until we can get acceptable uniforms. Use the old uniforms for cleaning, and you had better get used to it.” He looked around the throne room. “You will be doing a LOT of cleaning.” He turned to the sailors, and caught the eye of Lin’s First Mate. “Take twenty men and escort the officers down to the dock. They will be leaving with the former duke. Detail the other ten men, if you would, to find the head of housekeeping and a bevy of maids. Tell them to start cleaning, and then come back here. We’ve only just begun.”
For a few moments there was pandemonium, with shouts and curses and not a few blows. The sailors, however, were armed and well trained. The soldiers were not. Silence slowly descended on the throne room.
Much had been accomplished in a few short weeks, and Jorse looked down from the upper battlement of the castle, Castle Schwendau, he corrected himself. The flag of his house flew from the highest tower, and there seemed to be a new vigor in the air. The windows in the Throne Room had been repaired or washed, the floor shoveled, then swept and then scrubbed, as had every last piece of salvageable furniture, and a warm fire burned in the hearth. At least things smelled better.
Gorku, working closely with the head of housekeeping and the head cook, the old chamberlain had disappeared, had managed to find most of the lost or concealed wealth of the land, in a hidden closet in the back of the old duke’s bedchamber. There wasn’t much. Jorse added what he could, out of his own pocket, as did Lin to move things along.
Selene had approached him with a couple of interesting ideas, since they moved into the castle. She asked for, and was given, a small track of land for a new Mother House. She pointed out succinctly that he had, after all, destroyed the last one—so it was only fair. She then asked for a second tract, adjacent to her own temple. It was for a temple of monks, from Oki-retto, who desperately needed a new home. The saffron robed monks, and their families, were peaceful, simple people; mostly farmers and fishermen. They just happened to teach a style of unarmed combat that had been ancient when their ancestors emigrated from distant Earth. Jorse saw the benefit to his newly organized security forces almost immediately.
The topsail schooner was named Red Witch, and was almost ready for sea. She was a beautiful ship, well appointed, and faster than anything else afloat. When the dockyard crew found out what had happened to the old duke, Jorse found himself swamped with volunteers to man the new ship. He chose a dozen, including a Master and carpenter. The rest he stole from Lin.
“Anxious to leave so soon?” Lin’s voice was playful as she came up behind him. She had changed in the last weeks. She no longer had a certain tension about her, and she smiled more.
“I have certain obligations I have to see to.” Jorse smiled back.
Her hand tightened on his arm and her cornflower blue eyes seemed to bore into his soul. “Anya taught me one thing, that day in the throne room. She taught me that I have the capability of loving more than just one person, at a time that is.” Jorse could feel her shaking. “I love you, Jorse Schwendau. You have obligations you must follow, and you have Anya, who is a sweetie, but I thought you should know.” She took a deep breath. “I will be staying here when you leave, Jorse. I, uhh...”
“I understand, Lin.” Jorse finished for her, and he leaned close. “I love you too.” He kissed the stunned woman on the cheek, turned and left. Azure skies and ardent clouds looked down on the crying woman, while the scent of the pines seemed to cleanse the air. Three hours later he was at sea.
Chapter 17
Jorse slapped the shoulder of his uncle, Count Mirek Gorthenal, and wondered at the changes he saw in the Countess, Elsbeth, his aunt. This woman who hugged him and called him nephew looked to be forty, or perhaps thirty five. She was slender and her dark brown hair fell in a long shining cascade down her straight back. Her eyes, however, were still dark and probing.
Elsbeth took one look at Dala coming down the pier where the Red Witch had tied off, and took her husband by the arm, leading him back toward the waiting coach.
Dala stopped in front of him, and Jorse watched the play of emotions across her face.
“I didn’t know if you would come.” Her voice was timid, disbelieving. “I didn’t know if you would have the strength to leave Lin again.”
“We had a talk, Lin and I.” His throat was suddenly dry. “She stayed, I left.”
“She loves you, you know, and unless I’m mistaken, you still love her too.”
Jorse rolled his eyes, and grinned. “Why does everybody insist on telling me the obvious? Yes, I love Lin. Am I going to run off with Lin? No. However, I might leave everyone, and run off to join the circus. I’ve heard that they have more adventures than the Corsairs.”
Dala started laughing. “I’ve understand that the local circus has an opening for a clown, if you’re interested.”
Jorse laughed. “It’s fire eater or nothing.”
“Ohhh, I’ve missed you!” She was in his arms in a rush, squeezing him until his ribs ached.
When he paused to catch his breath, Jorse asked the obvious question. “If I figure things right, you have been here for six weeks—or so. What about our little plan?”<
br />
“Those festivities are set for two days from now. Noonish.” Her face looked outraged. “It took me an entire week to convince the right people that this was such a wonderful plan of theirs, and it couldn’t possibly go wrong.”
“Did you tell Mirek and Elsbeth?”
“I thought that the element of surprise would add a touch of realism, although I suspect that Aunt Elsbeth has figured it out by now. She’s really very bright.” Her sapphire eyes seemed to take in the Red Witch for the first time. “My! What a pretty little boat.”
“Ship.” Jorse corrected, with a note of pain in his voice.
“Whatever.”
“Are you sure that you want to go through with this, Dala? The plan is dangerous, and things could go — sideways.”
He saw her swallow, and look up at him with steady blue eyes. “You will be in as much or more danger than me. I also have Tessa to watch out for me. I’ll be fine.”
Jorse smiled, and gently touched her cheek. “You are the most courageous and remarkable young woman I’ve ever met.”
She smiled back. “I turn marriageable age in four or five years...” She let the sentence trail off.
Jorse kissed her gently, on the cheek. “We’ll see.”
~~~
The sun was just cresting the eastern horizon, silver and gray giving way to streaks of pink and orange, and the cold biting wind from the north was heavy with the smell of the sea. Far below him Jorse could see people moving about in the small narrow cobbled streets, still darkened by the walls of the castle. A dog barked shrilly, there was a shout, then silence.
Jorse turned from the window and looked at the still form of Dala, still buried under the blankets of her bed. “It’s time to get up, Dala.” The form stirred and rolled over, pulling the thick comforter up to her chin.
“Have you brought me breakfast, brother?” Her smile was playful, her black hair disheveled.
The Corsairs of Aethalia: A Thalassia novel Page 27