A Company of Heroes Book Two: The Fabulist

by Ron Miller

  “Hold up, there!” he shouts across the water. “Heave to! We’re going to board you!”

  This did not sound like a bad idea to Bronwyn and she stops to wave at the submersible, which is rapidly drawing closer.

  “I need help!” she cries, then again, “Help!”

  This is punctuated by a loud spang! from the ventilator beside her, and a shower of sparks, as a bullet misses her by inches. She crouches instinctively, throwing an arm up, as another bullet strikes even nearer. She leaps behind the ventilator, then cautiously peeres around it. Bugarach has used the diversion of the submersible to obtain a gun from somewhere and is firing at her from just beyond the edge of the roof, undoubtedly perched on the top rungs of a ladder. She swallows hard and makes a dash for the comparatively greater safety of the pilothouse. Bugarach’s gun crashes half a dozen times in her wake and by the time she reaches her shelter it has occurred to Bronwyn that eight shots should have emptied the chamber of any gun she is aware of. “The son of a bitch,” she growls rather than hisses, as she would have preferred, for lack of sibilants, then charges across the flat expanse of roof, sword flashing over her head like a silver pennant. Bugarach sees her coming with bulging eyes, impotently pulls the trigger of his now empty gun, throws it aside with a shriek and leaps from the ladder just as the princess reaches it. Bronwyn easily drops the five feet to the deck, landing directly behind the fleeing man.

  “Stop, damn it!” she orders, but this only seems to serve to make him run faster.

  They are on the starboard side of the yacht, opposite the submarine boat, and Bugarach is leading the chase toward the stem. Although her bare feet are slapping the deck as quickly as she can make them, the naked man manages to keep just beyond her reach. When they reach the awning-covered quarterdeck, she tries to cut him off on the diagonal, but he anticipates that and zigzags among the deck chairs, overturning them in her path as he runs.

  He reaches the port side and begins running back toward the bow. Bronwyn sees that some men are clambering over the railing ahead, blocking the narrow deck left by the deckhouse. Bugarach seems to be oblivious of their presence and in a dozen more strides runs into their arms like a runaway locomotive into a bumper, or perhaps more like a panicked squid into a net. His arms and legs flail but it is with the ineffectual randomness of sheer hysteria and the powerful arms of his captors have no difficulty in restraining him.

  Bronwyn strolls up to the group casually, sword over her shoulder, just as another black-clad figure is hoisting itself over the railing.

  “Good morning,” she says, cheerily. “Welcome aboard the Limnoria.”

  “My stars! It’s Princess Bronwyn!”

  “Basseliniden?” Bronwyn cries in complete astonishment, no less surprised than if the Weedking Himself had suddenly risen through the planking. She drops both her sword and her jaw without noticing. “What’re you doing here?”

  The last she had seen of the man was as a black-robed, wind-blown figure on a predawn pier in Hasselt. She certainly would never have expected to see his tall figure disgorged from the bowels of a submarine boat in the middle of the Mostaza Sea, or wherever it is they are. He is smiling at her with the same slightly sarcastic expression that she had discovered is entirely misleading. He is nearly half a foot taller than she, slender though well built, with greying muttonchops, sparkling grey-green eyes, and, she notices now that he is hoodless, almost bald.

  “I might ask you the same question,” he replies, “if I wasn’t more curious as to why you are chasing a naked man around this boat with a sword. It is an extraordinary sight.”

  “Keep that . . . that hussy away from me!” whines Bugarach. “She’s unnatural! She’s a tart, a hussy, a wanton! She’s an animal!”

  “What are you trying to do to him, anyway? I assume whatever it was, you had a good reason.”

  “I’ve got questions for you, too. Why don’t we go into the salon and discuss them?”

  “Excellent idea. What about him?”

  “You’d better tie him up somewhere. We’ll be asking him some questions later, too.”

  “Are you two the only ones on board?”

  “No. But I don’t know how large the crew is. He told me that he’d ordered the crew to stay below no matter what. As far as I can tell, they’ve obeyed that order meticulously.”

  “All right, then,” replies Basseliniden and gives the necessary orders to his own men. Half a dozen go off in search of the yacht’s crew while a length of cord is produced to bind Bugarach. Two men carry him into the salon behind Bronwyn and Basseliniden, deposit him onto a chair and leave. Bugarach glares at the remaining two as they make themselves at home in his salon.

  “Would you care for a little sherry, sir?” Bronwyn asks. “It’s a Wrawwroke that I’ve been told is excellent.”

  “Yes, please, that sounds very nice. Thank you,” Basseliniden replies as he is handed the slender glass of amethyst liquid.

  “Allow me to make a modest toast.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Mm. To the fine art of well-timed coincidence!”

  “Hear, hear!”

  They allow the rims of their glasses to touch with a musical tink.

  “Very nice crystal. And you’re right, this is excellent.”

  “I’m afraid our host over there must take the credit for the wine selection.”

  “My compliments, sir,” Basseliniden says to the bound man with a slight bow.

  “Pirates! That’s what you are! Pirates!”

  “I’m afraid he’s correct,” Basseliniden says to the princess, casting his eyes to the floor modestly. “I admit to being a pirate.”

  “Is that true?” she says, her eyes widening. “You’re really a pirate?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s wonderful! I’ve always wondered what you did . . . you are so mysterious . . . and you never did let me thank you properly for everything you did for me . . .”

  “It is nothing!”

  “A pirate! I think that’s the most thrilling thing I’ve ever heard!”

  “Oh, it’s not everything it’s made out to be.”

  “Don’t tell me that! Ever since I is old enough to read, I think I’ve read every pirate story and book ever written . . .”

  “Well, it’s really not very much like the stories . . .”

  “Oh, don’t tell me that! You’re probably just too used to it.”

  “That’s certainly a possibility.”

  “And is that a submarine boat you have out there? Where did that come from? Where’s your ship?”

  “If you’ll slow down a little, I’ll tell you everything in one breath.”

  “All right.” She turns to the prisoner. “Are you comfortable, Lord Bugarach? Can you hear all right? May I get you anything?”

  “You both can go to Hell,” he growls.

  “He’s a little testy, isn’t he?” asks Basseliniden.

  “He’ll be all right,” replies the princess. “I suppose I would be a touch grouchy myself if I looked as silly as he does.”

  In his anger Bugarach had forgotten that he is still nude. At Bronwyn’s remark he turns a brilliant scarlet. He tries to twist himself in some way that provides better coverage but only succeed in making himself more obvious. He is nearly in tears when he says, “You’re shameless! Libertine! Whore!”

  “Such language,” comment Basseliniden. “Shall I punish him?”

  “Ignore him. I think he’s rather decorative.”

  Bugarach has managed to turn himself around so that he is jackknifed into the chair. His curses are now only muffled grumbles since his face is buried in the cushions.

  “You have peculiar ideas as a decorator, if I may say so.”

  “You are going to tell me about your submarine boat.”

  “Oh, yes. Well. I had to be secretive when we first met that winter, since it’d been my experience that many people do not have the liberal and enlightened ideas about piracy that you seem to
possess. Nevertheless, my loyalties are to Tamlaght and its royal family, in that order, although I prefer to choose which members I attach that loyalty to. When I discovered that one of the most charming of the Tedeschiiys is in distress, how could I’ve done otherwise than come to her aid? If you’d always wanted to be a pirate, I’d always wanted to rescue a maiden. There is danger to myself in inadvertent exposure, though not much, but I had no choice.”

  “It wouldn’t’ve made any difference to me.”

  “I know that now, of course. But at the time it seemed best to maintain my professional anonymity. Especially since it seemed as though I could give you assistance without revealing myself.”

  “But everyone around Hasselt seemed to know you.”

  “True, but certainly not as a pirate. An adventurer, perhaps, something of a philanthropist, an investor, an owner of many local businesses, including the cannery . . . but my true vocation, no.

  “Since you experienced my snow-boat I probably don’t have to convince you that I have a fascination with, um, what I suppose you may call, ah, creative technology. Gadgets, machines, devices, strange, speculative inventions are my passion. I subscribe to all of the popular science monthlies. Well, when I happened to run across that submarine boat during its sea trials, how could I resist the opportunity to make it my own?”

  “I can’t imagine. It is Londeacan?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you get it? The last I saw it, it is being hauled from the bottom of a lake.”

  “It is the simplest thing in the world. It must have been on its first sea trials and had just surfaced to replenish its air supply. I signaled in a friendly fashion and steamed right up to it. I allowed its captain to assume that I is a wealthy yachtsman and he gives me an excellent and detailed tour of its interior. It seemed the most practical thing to permit him to do this before I took his boat away. He probably would’ve been reluctant to explain its workings otherwise.”

  “Probably.”

  “Well, I set the crew ashore, took command of the submarine boat myself, along with a few of my men for its crew, and have been having a wonderful time ever since!”

  “And where is your ship now?”

  “Oh, cruising about here and there. We rendezvous regularly at prearranged locations. The submarine boat makes an almost ideal pirate vessel, but its small size prevents me from taking prizes that are too large, you saw how small its only gun is, although its mere presence is very intimidating nor is there very much room for booty. It only takes four or five men to operate it. I understand from papers that I found aboard that there are plans to have eventually equipped the boat with more formidable weapons, but I must do the best I can with what I have for the time being.”

  “Well, I think you’ve done quite well, in my opinion.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I hate to interrupt this charming tête-à-tête, but are either of you going to untie me?” asks Bugarach.

  “No. Tell me what’s brought you to this state, Princess. And may I add that I think you look perfectly charming?”

  “You may, thank you. It’s been pretty complicated, but I’ll try to make as succinct a synopsis as I can.

  “I’m afraid to tell you that the trip you arranged for me on the Upsy Daisy wasn’t entirely successful, though I did finally manage to get to Glibner . . . even if the crew of the Upsy Daisy didn’t.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ll tell you about that later. Anyway, I made my way back to Blavek, but there is almost nothing I could do about Payne Roelt or my brother by myself. There is a virtual reign of terror in progress and I risked arrest almost anywhere I went. It turned out that Thud and Gyven had managed to escape from the prison they’d been taken to, and all along I had thought they are dead!, and I ran across them entirely by chance. In the meantime I’d realizes that there is only one person in all of Tamlaght who had even a chance of helping me. That is Baron Sluys Milnikov, and he is in prison himself . . .”

  “Not the Baron Milnikov? I think that I’ve read every single one of his books!”

  “Everyone seems to’ve. Well, with Thud’s and Gyven’s help I is able to engineer the baron’s escape from Kaposvar . . .”

  “Kaposvar? No! Really?”

  “Yes. After giving Payne a warning, I left Blavek on the baron’s yacht, arrived in Londeac and went immediately to my uncle’s palace.”

  “King Felix?”

  “Yes. He promised to help me, but before he could Payne found out where I was, forced the Church to put pressure on my uncle to extradite me, forcing me to escape from Toth. After, ah. one thing and another, we ended up in Lesser Piotr. Some way, I have no idea how, Payne’s agents discovered where I is again and tried to have me assassinated. That failed, I is kidnapped, by this man here, and is on my way to Spondula when you came by.”

  “Spondula, eh?” Basseliniden says, rubbing his chin. “These people really have a morbid grudge against you, don’t they?”

  “I’ve given you the expurgated version.”

  “Well, I hope you’ll allow me to offer you passage wherever you wish to go. In the meantime, what shall we do with this?” he asks, gesturing toward the inverted prisoner.

  “I don’t care. Leave him here, I suppose.”

  “You can’t do that!” Bugarach protests.

  “All right,” says Basseliniden, answering Bronwyn’s question, not Bugarach’s. “Do you have anything you’d like to take with you?”

  “Just some clothes I’d rather not leave.”

  “Gather them up and I’ll meet you by the ship’s ladder.”

  “I’ll only be a moment,” she says as they both rose and moved toward the door.

  “Wait!” squeaks Bugarach. “What about me?”

  “What about you?” Bronwyn asks, with genuine curiosity.

  “You can’t just leave me like this!”

  “Yes, I can,” she replies, exiting with the pirate.

  Outside, he says, “Go on and get your things. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll be faster than that.”

  She is true to her word, reappearing on the deck almost instantaneously, a bundle of black leather in her arms. Basseliniden’s crew had evidently been busy while he had been talking with her since the yacht’s deck is piled with loot, which they are now transferring to the submersible. Basseliniden hands her bundle to one of his men and helps the princess over the side. She nimbly scrambles down the ladder, where another man helps her make the jump to the curved black hull of the pirate ship.

  “Go on below,” calls the pirate captain. “I’ll be with you right away!”

  Steps bolted to the side of the squat tower allow her to climb to its flat, drum-like top. In the center she finds an open hatch with a narrow ladder leading into the dark interior. At the bottom is a small room with a low ceiling and curved walls. Its only illumination is the shaft of sunlight beaming through the manhole. There is a distant whine of an electric motor. There is just enough height in the middle of the room for her to stand upright. Of its contents she is only able to get an impression of a crowded maze of pipes and valves before Basseliniden follows her down the ladder. “This way,” he says.

  She follows him through an oval hatchway so small she has to bend over almost double to get through while Basseliniden has to fold up like a jackknife. This leads to a short corridor with a single door on either side of the narrow passage. Basseliniden opens the one on the right and gestures for the princess to enter. She finds a small iron cubicle not more than eight feet square and not quite high enough for her stand upright. A cot is folded against the far wall; there is a stool, a built-in sink with a mirror above, a closet or locker and a few shelves with a folding desk below. A small electric light in the ceiling casts a yellowish glare on the black metal. It reminds her a great deal of a private compartment on a train, or, given the riveted iron walls, a prison cell.

  “This is my cabin. I’
ll bunk with my crew. We’ll rendezvous with my ship tomorrow morning, about dawn. We’ll transfer to it and have you returned to Diamandis by the following day.”

  “That sounds perfect. You know, Basseliniden . . .”

  “ ‘Captain’ sounds more formal, but it’s a good deal shorter.”

  “Is there a short version of Basseliniden?”

  “That is short. My full name is Rossobasselinidenilindeniden.”

  “All right, Captain. Things happened so quickly back there that I haven’t had a chance to thank you yet!”

  “You don’t owe me a thing, let alone your thanks. I’m grateful for the opportunity to serve you. A duty and a pleasure.”

  “Well, I’m in your debt whether you accept it or not.” She extends her hand, which he takes, presses warmly between his palms, then kisses.

  “Please feel free to explore the Torpedo,” he says, “though I fear there’s little to see and not much room to see it in. When I have a moment, I’ll explain its operation to you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Until then, I must see to my duties. Will you excuse me?”

  “Of course! I’ll be fine.”

  “By the way,” he adds, turning back at the door, “did you really intend to, ah, have your way with that villain?”

  “Musrum, no! I’d rather stick a snake in my eye!”

  “Ah! Good.”

  With a bow the pirate captain leaves her. She shuts the door to her cabin, lets down the cot and stretches out upon it, her head resting on her crossed forearms. What an amazing turn of events, she thinks.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THUD’S TRIALS

  The Princess had only instructed Thud to wait for her outside of Fish-eye Gunther’s hotel; she had not told him how long to wait. Hours go by and Thud remains on the boardwalk stoically facing the house. Occasionally he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Then, an hour or so later, he shifts the weight back again.