by Tim Stretton
To his surprise, Bartazan of Bartazan House appeared almost immediately. He wore a coat of rich blue trimmed with a battlecat collar, silver breeches and a starched white shirt and soft white stock. To Mirko the effect seemed overdone, but he inwardly acknowledged that he was by no means an expert in these areas.
Bartazan of Bartazan House bowed to a fractional extent, making one gesture encompass both Mirko and Liudas. “Captain Ascalon! Welcome to Formello, which I hope pleases you.”
“It is undoubtedly imposing. In truth it is not an honour I had been expecting.”
Bartazan laughed. “Never let us be too certain. Hasty words were spoken when last we met. There are subjects I would explore with you later; for now I have guests to attend to. My fellow Electors will not be neglected. Allow me to introduce you to persons I hope you will find engaging. Liudas, perhaps you will attend to Captain Ascalon’s comfort.”
Liudas bowed without enthusiasm. With a hand on Mirko’s elbow, Bartazan steered him to a less crowded corner of the hall, where conviviality already seemed to have full rein. Liudas appeared displeased, but Mirko, who had no desire to hobnob with the Electors, found the turn of events more satisfactory.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Bartazan urbanely, “allow me to introduce Mirko Ascalon, formerly of the Garganet navy. This is his first visit to Formello and I am sure you will make him welcome.”
Mirko bowed to the company.
“Firstly,” said Bartazan, “I am pleased to introduce Carnazan, my nephew and – in the distant future, so I hope! – my heir. I am sure you will have much to discuss, as Carnazan has many interesting theories and ingenuities.”
Carnazan smiled absently and nodded at Mirko. He was slightly taller than the average, his red hair cut with no particular attention.
“These,” continued Bartazan, “are the famous brothers Raïdis and Haïdis. Raïdis helms Excelsior, while Haïdis is her overseer.”
Mirko bowed. “I saw you this afternoon — I thought you unfortunate. You might well have beaten Dragonchaser.”
Raïdis, tall and saturnine, shrugged. “If you saw the incident, you will appreciate there is little I can say, since both the owner and the helm of Serendipity are present. It would be undiplomatic to apportion blame for the collision while I am a guest at Formello.”
Mirko laughed. “You need not do so, since I had already formed my own opinion. Liudas, what do you say?”
Liudas sniffed. “Collisions are a part of racing. Raïdis need only to have kept his boat clear to have forged ahead. It is futile to blame Serendipity.”
Haïdis, almost identical to his brother but with an impenetrable gravity, merely looked at Liudas, who directed his attention elsewhere. Haïdis would make a strange overseer, thought Mirko; not a flogger like Orstas, but at least as intimidating. He doubted that Excelsior’s fine performance had been a fluke.
“Now allow me to introduce my niece, Larien,” said Bartazan, as a startlingly attractive young woman sauntered across. She closely resembled Carnazan. Her copper hair was artlessly gathered at the nape of her neck, and her dark blue dress, tight to the waist and flaring below, set off her warm complexion and figure to advantage. She held out her hand.
“I am charmed to meet you, sir,” she said. “I adore the races, and I would very much like to hear your views of the Morvellos Regatta later.”
Mirko bowed, although he could not remember if he had already done so. “I would be honoured to do so, my lady.”
“Excellent!” she exclaimed. “You need not concern yourself with flattering the prospects of Serendipity. She may be my uncle’s galley but her chances of any success this season are minimal.”
Bartazan did not appear favourably impressed with Larien’s artlessness. Quickly he steered Mirko away.
“Finally, may I present my wife Lady Inuela, who has lent her patronage to that noble galley traduced by my niece.”
Lady Inuela smiled and nodded her head to Mirko. Her dark hair spiralled in unruly curls, and her small black eyes locked in Mirko with minatory intentness. The word ‘virago’ instantly sprang to mind.
“Captain Ascalon will find much to discuss with you,” said Bartazan. “Captain, my wife is an abolitionist, a position I believe you also espouse.”
With that Bartazan was gone, leaving Mirko to clarify his position on slave-holding to the wife of a slave-holder; hardly a hospitable act.
Lady Inuela looked up at Mirko, her suspicious eyes narrowing still further. “Are you really an abolitionist?”
Mirko smiled airily. “I would not make such a claim. I made a remark to your husband that the condition of the slaves was a factor in the galley’s poor performance in sea trials.”
“I understand,” she said, “that in Garganet galleys are crewed by free men.”
“That’s true,” said Mirko. “In Paladria there seems to be a feeling that a free man is debased by pulling in oar; in Garganet he’s ennobled by it. But we use our galleys to fight, not to race; and we still have our slaves — just not quite so many.”
Inuela said: “I consider slavery a debasement of man’s condition; but my views carry little weight in Formello.”
“Or anywhere else, for that matter,” interjected Larien with a smile at Mirko. “Certain ideas are simply too — recherché — to gain serious consideration.”
Inuela flushed at her niece’s outspokenness and gave her a look of clear dislike. For a fact, Mirko thought, her views bordered on the absurd: how could any society function without slaves? Who would do the work? Nonetheless, Larien showed little respect for her aunt.
“Larien, my dear, there is something in what you say. Your own ideas, of course, are noted for their conventionality.”
Larien flushed. “You will have Captain Ascalon believing me staid, my lady.”
“At least until he speaks to anyone who has the slightest acquaintance with your behaviour. I am sorry to say your uncle has on more than one occasion characterised you as ‘wayward’. Fortunately I have been on hand to moderate his opinion.”
“I am grateful, I am sure, my lady, for any interventions you may have made on my behalf, particularly those which have an existence outside of your imagination,” said Larien.
“Well!” cried Lady Inuela. “I’m sure I’ve tried only to help, and if it weren’t for my voice of caution he would have packed you off to Io long before now – “
Larien opened her mouth to interject; Inuela held up her hand.
“ – because he’s certainly been tempted. I don’t expect any thanks, and a good job too, but a certain amount of respect would be nice. Your uncle has done nothing but pamper and cosset you since your father died, and all you do is mope around Formello and disappear for days on end.”
Larien said, sotto voce, “Is it any wonder, with you for company?” as she looked across at Mirko. “Captain,” she said in a louder voice, “I understand the Garganet enjoy a reputation for gallantry. Would you be good enough to escort me outside for some fresh air?”
“Delighted, my lady,” said Mirko, who had no wish to watch a catfight. He offered Larien his arm and the pair strolled into the courtyard, where Larien casually opened an unbolted sally-port. Emerging, they stepped along a pleasant gravelled path to arrive at an ornamental lake.
“I’m sorry about that,” said Larien with a laugh. “Formello is a gloomy enough place at the best of times, and my aunt is one of the gloomiest features of it. I must have appeared terribly crass the way I spoke to her.”
Mirko grinned himself. “For a fact, she seems something of a termagant. No doubt anyone’s patience would become strained at times.
Larien sat on an intricately worked iron bench, beckoning Mirko to join her. Tucking a stray lock of copper hair behind her ear, she said: “In fairness I should acknowledge she doesn’t have an easy life. She was given away by her family, House Linnoc, to seal an alliance with the House of Bartazan, and my uncle will scarcely be an indulgent husband. She has become shrewish
and bitter, and thinks to take it out on my own high spirits – or ‘waywardness’, as she prefers to characterise it.”
Mirko smiled. Larien had an engaging way about her. He was quite happy to sit and listen.
“I shouldn’t be boring you with my own troubles. Your own concerns must be pressing enough, if my uncle has taken you up. Anything to do with that galley of his means trouble.”
“You need not concern yourself unduly, my lady. I have dealt with rogues before, and Bartazan not the worst.”
Larien swung her blue eyes to look into Mirko’s. “I have only just met you, captain, and your welfare should be no concern of mine. But you should be aware that Bartazan is a dangerous man. He is quick of thought, subtle of execution, ruthless of action. Do not underestimate him, and do not cross him.”
Mirko finished his wine. “You don’t seem to like your family,” he said dryly.
“Don’t think that,” she said. “The only person I think of as family is my brother Carnazan, who is too unworldly and impractical for his own good. I love him more than anything. But I have no other family: my mother died of puerperal fever, my father of grief. Neither Bartazan nor Inuela has ever cared for me: my uncle’s only interest is to marry me off for political advantage, a strategy I counter by displays of ‘waywardness’. Any Elector of good standing would be wary of taking me on.”
“But Carnazan is Bartazan’s heir.”
“He cares no more for Bartazan than I do, but he escapes into his dreamworlds. My brother is prey to enthusiasms,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Some are foolish, some profound. Sometimes he alights on an idea with potential, but he has also posited wind-powered rattlejacks and alchemical converters, both of which have occupied him in the past. The alchemical converter, in particular, smacked more strongly of the Old Craft than was prudent.”
“You appear strongly attached to him,” said Mirko.
“My attachments are few,” said Larien. “But where I care, I care deeply.”
Mirko could think of nothing to say; consequently he held his counsel. After a short silence, Larien said:
“I understand my uncle wants to offer you a job. Make sure you milk him for everything; better still, go your way in peace. Few men emerge from their dealings with Bartazan of Bartazan House in profit.”
“He has not formally offered my any position yet.”
“He will, he will. He is desperate to win the Margariad; it would change his reputation overnight.”
“Maybe he will win — with or without me.”
Larien looked up sharply. “Never! Have you not seen Dragonchaser? The swiftest galley ever built, and the best helm in Drallenkoop! He is an Elector’s son and he helms his own galley! What other man in his position would be so careless of his status? No-one will beat Dragonchaser this year; Excelsior is a good boat, but not in Dragonchaser’s class; while Serendipity will do well to avoid last place. My aunt will be mortified, and no more than she deserves.”
With that she sprang to her feet with mercurial energy, and dashed away. Mirko shook his head and slowly followed. Soon after re-entering the festivities a retainer appeared with a request from Lord Bartazan for a private conference.
The next morning, Mirko rose early in the guest chamber on an upper floor of Formello where he had passed a generally restful night. By and large Liudas would have been satisfied with his conduct: he had neither eaten nor drunk to excess, had engaged in a mild flirtation only with Lady Larien, and less than none with Lady Inuela. Taking advantage of quill and paper, he set himself to write a letter, using a cipher known only to himself and one other person.
‘N’,
You will be gratified to learn that the recent oversights which have affected your cause have largely been remedied. Last night I was a guest of Lord Bartazan at Formello where, as you predicted, he renewed his offer of employment. In accordance with your instructions I held out for what I considered to be appropriate terms: a 6,000 valut retainer, half payable in advance, with a further 12,000 valut payable upon victory in the Margariad. Needless to say, I do not expect to collect this latter sum; pursuant to our agreement, therefore, I will submit an account for this amount in the event that Serendipity does not win the Margariad.
I agreed to begin sea trials immediately, although Bartazan has not yet acceded to any of my proposals. With his existing crew, helm and overseer he can have no hope of winning the Margariad; even at her best, her level of performance is well below Excelsior, Morvellos Devil, Animaxian’s Glory, and of course Dragonchaser.
I was unable to implement your further instructions. While a number of Electors were present — most notably Chiess-Vervario, Algimantas, Baltazaras and Gerdvilas — I was not introduced to this section of the company and am unable to form an impression as to their voting intentions in any election this summer.
Since I am writing from Formello itself I will not tarry longer; please send the money to the usual address and I will respond in the normal way.
My respects to your Ladyship,
‘G’
Mirko sealed and addressed the envelope with satisfaction; soon he would expect to feel the chink of gold in his pocket, and obtained with minimal effort.
CHAPTER 4
S
ome days later Mirko sat with Bartazan of Bartazan House, inconspicuous in dock labourer’s garb, in a tavern of reasonable quality. Mirko, who had been afloat with Serendipity for three hours in the morning, drank deeply of his beer between mouthfuls of hot pickled shellfish. Bartazan waited patiently for Mirko to finish his meal before beginning his questions.
“You have had almost a week to assess the situation. What is your appraisal?”
Mirko paused for a moment. Candour had not been successful previously; for various reasons he could not afford to be discharged again. On the other hand, there were few positive conclusions that could be drawn from Serendipity’s performance to date.
“My inclination would be stress the improvements which might be made, rather than to dwell on deficiencies encountered to date. I might easily set out a programme of reforms which would generate a significant improvement.”
“Continue.”
“The first problem concerns the condition of the crew. Frankly their diet is inadequate to the efforts they are required to undertake. Their performance would be further improved by sufficient rest in appropriate surroundings. My programme would therefore encompass the following: food of the standard you provide your militia; no more than four hours’ sea time per day, plus a further half hour’s weight training; and a transfer away from Formello to a location more local to the docks.”
“This appears a significant package of reforms!”
“It by no means constitutes the sum of my recommendations. I would further add —”
Bartazan set his tankard down with a thump. “That is sufficient — more than sufficient — for an initial programme. I must think long and hard about the advisability of such steps. Remember, I am a man of consequence in Paladria. What would become of my reputation if it became known that I was pampering my slaves?”
“My fairly innocuous suggestions would do no more than bring their condition into line with those owned by Drallenkoop; his reputation appears augmented by the success of Dragonchaser.”
Bartazan frowned. “Drallenkoop does not aspire to high political office. He need not concern himself with the opinions of the Electors.”
“The choice is yours, my lord. Without, at the minimum, the improvements I suggest, there is no chance at all of Serendipity performing creditably, let alone beating Dragonchaser. My retainer will be payable regardless, but I am keen also to secure my victory bonus.”
Bartazan shook his head quickly. “Very well. I will instruct Orstas to make the necessary arrangements.”
Once Bartazan left, Mirko felt fairly well satisfied. Both Orstas and Liudas lacked the skills and temperaments necessary for their positions; but if the slaves were better fed and rested their morale w
ould improve, and with it their performances. Conceivably in such a case overseer and helm might also acquit themselves more respectably.
While he reflected over another mug of beer at the rough wooden bench, Mirko felt a presence sit quietly beside him. Looking across, he saw ‘N’, a dark-grey cloak covering a brown ‘slave-girl’ style blouse and black boots and breeches — eccentric garb. Mirko had never known what to make of her; her address was undoubtedly that of a gentlewoman; she was handsome without striking beauty, and perhaps four or five years past the bloom of youth. They had met twice previously, and Mirko was no nearer knowing who she was or who she represented. Her slight stature gave her an air of vulnerability which Mirko suspected was illusory.
“How long have you been here?” he asked.
“Long enough,” smiled ‘N’. “I thought it best not to interrupt your conversation with the Elector.”
“You are considerate,” said Mirko. “I wonder too if he might have recognised you.”
‘N’ smoothed a hair back from her forehead. “Wonder is your entitlement, although there’s no money it: whereas if you follow my instructions, you could find yourself yet more enriched.”
“Go on,” said Mirko, taking another pull at his beer.
At ‘N’s instruction they repaired to an ill-lit corner booth. Strands of ‘N’s sun-bleached hair caught the weak light, but half of her face was occluded by shadow. Not for the first time, Mirko suspected she enjoyed these intrigues for their own sake.