Dragonchaser (The Annals of Mondia)

by Tim Stretton

  Bartazan had twenty-six votes; he had won the Election; he was Peremptor of Paladria.

  And, thought Mirko, he was also a murderous hypocrite; and he, Mirko had put him there.

  The crowd would be denied no longer. “Bartazan! Peremptor Bartazan! Give us the new Peremptor! Bartazan! Fly the Azure Flag!”

  Giedrus sat expressionless at his table; Mirko sat with his head in his hands next to a frozen Catzen. Larien looked across at the pair of them, her thoughts unreadable. Elsewhere, at a signal from Vaidmantas, the Constables took up new stations at the exits.

  Algimantas rose from his seat and called the room to attention. “My lords, may I direct your attention to the flagpoles? You will see that the Election has a winner; the Azure of the House of Bartazan is at the summit. I give you your new Peremptor, Lord Bartazan of Bartazan House!”

  The crowd outside bellowed in approval as servants brought down the canopy to return the Electors to their privacy. Inside the pavilion rapture was more contained; everybody knew that many of the votes cast for Bartazan had been the result of direct or indirect duress. Larien cast a long look at Mirko, rose from her seat and went to stand by the exit leading to the Election platform.

  Bartazan stood up and walked with measured dignity to the far end of the pavilion, pausing has he passed Giedrus’ table to exchange a few quiet words. Mirko was mildly encouraged; there was as yet no gloating or triumphalism. Mirko knew from his own experience that one could never tell in advance how power would affect a man, and that his means of securing it did not necessarily give a clue as to how he would discharge it. Perhaps Bartazan would prove statesmanlike after all.

  After briefly condoling with Giedrus, Bartazan sprang up to the lectern swiftly unveiled for the victory speech.

  “My fellow Electors, and my guests,” he began, his face overspread by a benign if possibly not sincere smile, “I stand before you not as your Peremptor, but your servant.”

  Mirko identified the cough at the back of the room as coming from Larien; it seemed likely that the knowledge would not escape her uncle either, but Bartazan was not detained in his oratory.

  “I am conscious of a deep personal inferiority as the responsibility of the August Office settles upon me; but my House has a long and honourable history of service to the common weal of Paladria, and I will strive with all my might to live up to the traditions of my House and the Office.”

  Larien appeared to have brought her scorn under control, and no-one else among the Electors felt the need for interjection or open scepticism.

  “It is my intent to dispense only justice as your Peremptor. I forswear all senseless harshness and vendetta; however, it is necessary to begin my tenure with a certain reckoning, which will deal justly with certain persons who have fallen away from their loyalties and obligations. In public affairs there is inevitably a tension between justice and mercy; and on occasion the diligent ruler must choose between the two. Vaidmantas, step forth!”

  Mirko looked at Catzen, his stomach leaping. What was Bartazan planning? Was it possible he was going to make an example of the treacherous Vaidmantas and accept the wisdom of reaching an accommodation with Mirko? The idea had never previously occurred to him. Or was this moment he chose to rid himself of all the problems Mirko represented?

  Vaidmantas walked slowly to the lectern, his face expressionless. Mirko realised that Vaidmantas had no more idea of Bartazan’s intentions than anyone else; megalomania and paranoia were not predictable states of mind.

  “Welcome, loyal servant of Paladria!” cried Bartazan. “You may consider yourself, as of this moment, Captain of the Constables.”

  Vaidmantas bowed, his expression still unreadable.

  “Your first act is to secure the exits from this room, that justice may be administered the more effectively.”

  Catzen reached across and took Mirko’s hand. Sorry, she mouthed. Mirko squeezed her hand, and allowed his other hand to drop to his sword hilt. My fault, he mouthed back.

  Vaidmantas wordlessly directed the Constables to all the exits; although Mirko noticed that Larien had managed to slip out while all eyes were elsewhere.

  “It has come to my attention,” said Bartazan, “with a heavy heart, that a man I had come to rely on, from whom I had come to expect loyalty and even considered a friend, has been conducting a secret intrigue against me these many months. Intrigue against the Peremptor is treason.”

  Mirko considered that, even were he a Paladrian citizen, the law hardly permitted treason to be determined retrospectively; but Bartazan was unlikely to be swayed by legalistic quibbles.

  “Sadly I refer to the self-styled ‘Captain’, Mirko of Garganet. You have all seen his consummate skill on the water today; but like so many of our galley-masters, he has been corrupted into dabbling with politics, to his ultimate woe. In conspiracy with the Lady Catzendralle, of the pernicious House Drall, he has sought to undermine and betray me. I will deal with the body of House Drall later, but regrettably the Lady Catzendralle must be taken into custody, awaiting the trial by her peers which is her right. No such privilege need be extended to the rogue Garganet, neither citizen nor gentleman.

  “Vaidmantas! Kindly take the Lady Catzendralle into custody; then remove Ascalon and kill him immediately.”

  Constables moved towards Catzen and made to lead her away, while others moved towards Mirko with drawn swords. Catzen shook off the first arm which reached her.

  “Be good enough to allow me to adjust my hem!” she said with quiet hauteur. “If this is to be my last public appearance, I would not have my skirt flapping at my ankles.”

  Such was her authority that the first Constable stepped back while Catzen knelt to adjust her hemline. Before Mirko could fully establish what had happened, Catzen had stood erect with one of Panduletta’s hem-pins concealed in her hand, and plunged it into the stomach of the hapless Constable, who leapt back in alarm with a cry of chagrin.

  All eyes moved to the scene; Mirko took advantage to draw his sword and skewer the wrist of the first of the advancing Constables. The odds were still long but he now had the initiative. He leaped onto the long banquet table. “Come on!” he roared. “Who’s first?”

  The other two Constables stepped back in puzzlement; this had been no part of their expectation. Catzen drove her elbow hard into the nose of the Constable she had pinned; he fell back with blood coursing from the wound. Hampered by her dress, she clambered onto the table to stand back-to-back with Mirko.

  The Constables around the exit looked irrresolutely on: they were unwilling to desert their positions and risk an escape. Mirko essayed a sally down the table; Electors scattered and he caught one of the unwary Constables with a thrust to the belly. This technique would work, Mirko realised, until the Constables managed to collect their wits. Lady Inuela sat below them, her face transfixed in horror. Mirko thought about taking her hostage, but he knew Bartazan would not care.

  Deftly Mirko flipped up the injured Constable’s blade with his own and threw it to Catzen. For the time being there was a stand-off of sorts, but it could not last. Ladies around the room screamed; Bartazan bellowed largely incoherent advice. Then Vaidmantas called out: “Archers! Fetch me archers!”

  Mirko knew the game was up; an archer could pick him off from the side of the pavilion and he would be able to do nothing. Catzen looked at him in alarm; Mirko shook his head. He was a dead man either way; but he could save Catzen from the archers by giving in. “Vaidmantas!” he called.

  CHAPTER 38

  F

  rom outside Mirko was interrupted by a high clear female voice, and one he recognised.

  “Listen to me!” it shouted. “Bartazan is killing Mirko!”

  Larien, thought Mirko. What is she doing?

  “Help me!” she called. “Will you let them kill brave Mirko? And the Lady Catzendralle? Help me now!”

  Mirko could hear the great inarticulate roar go up from the crowd, who only minutes earlier had been threatenin
g to lynch anyone who did not vote for Bartazan; but the person of a galley-master — especially a Margariad winner — was inviolate. The next thing Mirko knew splintered planks were sailing through the entrance; they were ripping up the platform in their rage and hurry to get inside.

  Vaidmantas turned. “Where are the archers! Eudrys, keep them out!”

  But the first members of the crowd had surged through the entrance, trampling Constables underfoot. This wasn’t a rescue attempt, it was a riot. Vaidmantas called the Constables to order, turned tables on their side to create a barricade. Once the archers arrived they could easily restore order, but until then they had to avoid a riot. The Electors milled around like chickens molested by a fox, running this way and that to no great effect. Bartazan dashed over to Vaidmantas’ barricade, shouting great imprecations.

  “Come on!” yelled Mirko to Catzen. “Let’s get out of here — now!”

  The Constables were too concerned with their own safety to spare a thought for them; the panic-stricken Electors neither recognised them nor cared; and the crowd parted to let them through with a great cheer, although already the thought of looting and destruction held more appeal for them than their original purpose.

  Mirko took Catzen’s hand as they dashed pell-mell from the pavilion out on to the plaza, trying to force a passage through the great press of bodies swelling in the opposite direction. “Don’t let go of my hand!” he shouted.

  Eventually, after much barging and cursing, they found themselves in a side-street; only to be confronted by a squad of Constables, all armed with bows.

  “You there! Halt!” cried the leader of the group. “Where are you going?”

  “There’s a riot at the pavilion — the crowd is trying to lynch Peremptor Bartazan. Vaidmantas needs you there now! There’s no time to waste!”

  The Constable nodded. “Come on, lads! There’s work to be done!”

  And the archers pounded off down the street.

  “Where now?” panted Catzen. “Those archers will restore order soon enough.”

  “The docks, as quickly as we can!”

  Catzen found it hard to keep up with Mirko’s unflagging pace; and Mirko himself felt his lungs burning and his legs moved as if he were running through water. Catzen cast her sword aside in sheer exhaustion as she held on to Mirko’s hand. Behind them Mirko heard a horn blowing loud and long.

  “That’s the pursuit,” gasped Mirko. “We’re back where we were this morning.”

  Directly in front of them was the jetty, guarded by surly Constables annoyed at having missed the more glamorous task of superintending the Election.

  “Let us through!” called Mirko. “I need to get to Serendipity!”

  The Sergeant of the Constables looked puzzled. “No-one’s to go through, captain, that’s the orders of Vaidmantas.”

  “You blockhead!” said Mirko. “I hardly think that applies to galley-masters, do you? Your job is to protect the galleys — I’m not going to set fire to my own boat, am I?”

  “I suppose not, sir…”

  “Stand aside, then!”

  The Sergeant moved aside with a mumbled apology, and Mirko and Catzen clattered down the jetty. Serendipity was illuminated in the crescent half-moon, rocking gently on the tide, the sail bellied with the light breeze.

  “This is where we find out if Trajian has followed instructions,” said Mirko. “If he hasn’t, we’re dead. Trajian! Are you there?”

  “Who is it?” came a voice back out of the darkness.

  “Mirko and Catzen — are we ready to go?”

  Catzen said quietly to Mirko: “I thought we had a leak?”

  “Not if Trajian has done as I hoped.”

  Trajian sprang from the deck onto the jetty with a grin. “Welcome aboard! I take it events have not gone according to plan.”

  Catzen permitted herself a thin smile. “It depends: if the plan was to ensure Bartazan — or should I say, the August Bartazan — passing a death sentence on us, we enjoyed complete success.”

  “Well,” said Trajian, “we have replaced the damaged timbers and taken aboard a full complement of provisions. If there’s anywhere you want to go, Serendipity will take you there.”

  Mirko nodded. “We no longer have a choice. Bartazan will not remit your indentures, he has told the Constables to kill me and arrest Catzen. We need to go.”

  “What about Florian?”

  Mirko looked at Catzen. She shrugged and shook her head.

  “There’s nothing we can do for him,” said Mirko. “There’s no way we can rescue him, and no reason Bartazan should harm him. We need to go with all due speed. Tell the crew they have five minutes. Catzen, you go aboard; I’ll join you shortly.”

  Catzen looked at him in surprise and went aboard. Mirko walked back down the jetty and past the Sergeant, who saluted smartly as he went past. Leaning against the sea-wall, he looked back into the Old Town. This place had been home to him; only for a year, but it had been home. On any rational basis Paladria was not a city to regard with affection, its ruling class corrupt, evil, at best inept. But here he had found friendship — admittedly at a price — purpose, and confidence. He doubted he would ever be returning; he had left a few loose ends, especially ――

  Even before the thought could crystallise he heard a whisper in the still quiet of the night: “Mirko! Are you there?”

  Mirko looked around. From the shadows stepped Larien.

  “I knew you’d be here,” she said. “I wanted to make sure you got away.”

  Mirko smiled thinly. “That remains a premature assumption. Serendipity is seaworthy, and we will have to trust to our chances; but our escape is not yet assured.”

  “You know my uncle wasn’t bluffing about killing you.”

  “Of course not. But you know I had to try and redeem the slaves. And thank you for what you did.”

  Mirko thought he could discern a flush spread across her moonlit face.

  “Think of it as paying my debt,” she said. “After the way I’ve treated you this summer… now I can look you in the face if I ever see you again.”

  Mirko looked up at the sky. Why was dealing with Larien never straightforward? “You can come with us, you know. You must be in danger here now.”

  Larien shook her head with a half-smile. “Even Bartazan won’t kill his own niece — not before tomorrow lunchtime, anyway, and I’m out of here on the Taratanallos packet then. Are we friends again?”

  He took her hand. “It depends what you mean by friends — but yes.”

  She stood up and pulled her cloak around her shoulders. “Then that’s enough for me. One day we’ll meet again, Mirko — so I’m glad we’ve parted like this.”

  “Goodbye, Larien.”

  “Goodbye Mirko.”

  He watched her as she slipped slowly off into the darkness; and sighed with relief. The final interview had not created any conflicts he could not deal with, and he would no longer have to worry about her continuing ability to affect him in ways he could not fully understand. Whatever his feelings for Catzen, Larien would always have the power to touch him in deep and unpredictable ways: best that she were off the scene.

  Cries in the distance brought him to full alertness: “Treason! Treason! To the docks!”

  He sprinted back up the jetty. “Jenx! Help me cast off — we’re leaving!”

  Mirko and Jenx untied Serendipity and leaped back aboard.

  “Which direction?” asked Catzen.

  “Just out into the bay — we need to get away from the land.”

  Jenx beat a steady Six tempo as they pulled out towards the Hanspar. Mirko looked back towards the shore; on the seafront he could see torches, enough for several squads of Constables. He jumped down from the observation platform to stand next to Catzen.

  “What will Bartazan do?” he asked.

  “You’ve stolen his galley and his slaves: what do you expect him to do?”

  “Come after us with the Fleet.”

/>   “Yes, but it’s not quite that simple. Bartazan has been Peremptor half an hour; the Fleet officers are traditionally loyal to the House he has beaten; and you are popular in the city. He might not be able to launch the Fleet against you.”

  Mirko looked at her in surprise. “We can cruise the seas, then…”

  “It only needs a few officers — the rowers are loyal to the officers and to their purses. We need to get out of here, and quickly.”

  Mirko nodded. “I’m not keen to run against the current once we’re outside the bay, so that rules out Estria. We’ll make for Aylissia, and if anyone wants to press on for Taratanallos or Garganet from there, they can. Jenx! Go to Seven!”

  Mirko climbed back to the observation platform and looked across to the Fleet Docks, which were lit but still. Steadily Serendipity made her way west across the bay, steering by the light of the Morvellos Lighthouse. This course took them closer to the Fleet Docks than Mirko wanted to go, but he was unwilling to leave the bay for the open sea without the protection of the coastline.

  “Look!” shouted Catzen, “there’s a galley coming out of the docks.”

  Mirko pulled out his spy-glass. “It’s only one ship, but a double-lateen sixty-four: twice our size and faster than us, especially with a fresh crew.”

  The black shape of the Fleet galley scudded rapidly across the inshore waters; at her rate of progress she would intercept Serendipity while they were still in the bay; and Mirko knew the chances of out-running her were slim.

  “Jenx! Down to Five! Down to Five! Catzen! Put about — prepare to fight!”

  Jenx wordlessly lowered the tempo; Catzen looked at him in astonishment.

  “You can’t fight a sixty-four — she’ll destroy us!”

  Mirko’s eyes were cold. “I ran away once before. It’s not the Garganet way. This time, Catzen, we stand and fight. We may not be a Garganet galley but we’ll go down like one.”