One Velvet Glove

by Dave Duncan

  The warden’s visitors exchanged smiles all round.

  “Could just be our man,” Sharp said.

  Goodwin leaned forward, dropping the pretence. “Whatever you’re after, he’s going to want a cut.”

  Sharp shrugged to demonstrate indifference. “We might negotiate something. One fifth of the fish, likely. If we catch anything. He’ll have to collect his own beautiful maidens.”

  “What about this sequestration business?” Dad said.

  “Well, the sheriff’s a friend of mine. I can probably get the case put off for two or three months and release the boat in the meantime—so the man can earn a living.”

  The Blade fraternity was working again. Rhys guessed that this was not the first time Warden Baron Goodwin had helped out Sailor Orca. But then the warden sighed. “Of course he will have to put up some sort of warranty.”

  Brotherhood could only stretch so far?

  Seeing Sharp looking at him expectantly, Rhys opened his satchel and brought out the cups, which he unwrapped and set on Baron Goodwin’s desk. Baron Goodwin’s eyes widened and shone as bright as the gold.

  “There’s two hundred crowns right there, just in the bullion,” Sharp said. “The workmanship’s worth a fair bit more of course.”

  “Then let’s say two-fifty, will we?” the warden said, looking to Rhys. “I’ll hold them as surety for the return of Sea Devil until you redeem them.” He took them up and set them on a high shelf where they would be clearly visible to all future visitors. “By the way, did you turn in your horses when you came here? No?... I’ll send men to fetch them, then. Where are you staying?”

  He did not resume his seat, which was a strong hint that the interview was over, and the sooner the better. He pointed out the approximate location where Sir Orca’s Sea Devil was tied up. Hands were shaken all round, which left Rhys with a strong desire to wash his.

  They marched out of the castle two-by-two, but in a moment Sharp announced that he needed to dispose of that rotten ale before it poisoned him, and stepped into a convenient corner.

  Rhys joined him. Addressing the wall straight ahead, he said, “Ambrose did remember the treasure.”

  “’Fraid so. One gets you a thousand he called in that turd Kromman and told him to find out what you and your dad were going to do. Goodwin knows that we’re up to something. The question is, whose side is he on?”

  “Ours, surely? A Blade helping Blades? He warned us about the warrant he’d received. He asked us about the horses, because the stable master probably has orders to report Blades turning any in.”

  “Well, I hope so,” Sharp said. “Goodwin swore loyalty to the king a long time ago, just as we did, but Goodwin doesn’t know that the king has no moral right to the treasure, which we do.”

  “And he seemed very certain that Orca would agree to join us.”

  “I’m sure he will. Landing on a beach by night? Obviously Orca’s a smuggler, and Goodwin gets a slice of the profits in return for looking the other way, but this time something’s gone wrong and the sheriff’s involved—common law, not maritime. But we brought him a good way to lose the accused and thus muddy the water. If Orca never returns, so much the better. Orca is probably facing a date with the hangman at worst, loss of his boat at best. He’ll cooperate!”

  Sharp was much better at analyzing other people’s devious ethics than Rhys was, although now he could understand why Goodwin had looked so worried at being told that four Blades wanted to see him. Only Blades ever dared try to arrest Blades. Old Blades never starved—but they didn’t always stay honest, either. He hadn’t known that.

  He was surprised at the strength of his nostalgia for his contribution to the expedition. “I just hope that Goodwin keeps my gold cups well hidden. They have my name on them, remember!”

  Sharp said, “Not for long. It would be no great job for a goldsmith to change your name on them to Goodwin’s. Every Blade dreams of winning the king’s cup. Greasy Tom buys them off stony-broke knights for fifty crowns and sells them for two hundred to wealthy knights, suitably re-engraved. You shouldn’t have let Goodwin see both of them.”

  Rhys knew he was hopeless at such chicanery. Obviously Sharp was an expert. It was good—in fact essential—to have him on your side in a shady undertaking like this. “So you do think Ambrose has put the Dark Chamber on our trail?”

  “Of course he has,” Sharp said, lacing up. “And we need to move out like acute diarrhoea.”

  At Sharp’s suggestion, they went around by The Spinnaker, paid for their night’s lodging, and recovered their packs, which were not heavy to carry. Their horses had already been collected and led away by the port warden’s men.

  Sea Devil was easy enough to find, as she had her name painted on her stern and was the only vessel they had seen chained to a bollard. The padlock bore an impressive seal with the royal coat of arms on it. She was a tubby craft, about fifteen feet long, with a deck, two hatches, and a single mast. The deck was cluttered with ropes, two extra-long oars, and other nautical jumble. One hatch was open.

  “You’re our marine expert, Dad,” Rhys said. “What do you think of her?”

  “I’m no sailor! I can tell she’s old but she looks well kept. I’m sure she’ll roll in any sort of weather. Wonder where the owner is?”

  His question was answered by a muffled snore.

  “I think I can guess.” Rhys cupped his hands and yelled, “Starkmoor!”

  The answer was another snore.

  Dad chuckled. “Try harder.”

  Rhys jumped.

  The deck was about four feet lower than the quay, and he deliberately landed with a thump. The boat rolled, timber creaking against timber. A moment later a man shot up in the open hatch like a jack-in-the-box, clutching a sabre that probably had a cat’s eye on the pommel. He sported a mop of black curls, a week’s stubble on his face, and—since he had no clothes on at least his visible half—a mat of black chest hair. He bellowed, “What the shit do yo want?”

  “You, brother.”

  “Get off my—” Then, “Brother? Rhys?” Orca looked upward. “Trusty! And Sharp?”

  “And my father, Sir Spender. We’re on a crazy-mad treasure hunt, and we need a boat. We’ve just been to see Baron Goodwin. He’s going to release your boat for a couple of months if you’ll join the party.”

  Orca’s eyes gleamed. “When d’we leave?”

  “How soon can we leave?”

  “Soon as that chain comes off.”

  Suspicious of this instant acceptance, Rhys said, “You’re willing, then? This will be risky—could be dangerous and completely unprofitable.”

  “Not’s much as what’ll happen this afternoon if I don’ go.”

  “You’re getting married?” Rhys thought he was making a joke.

  “How’d you know that?” Orca looked up at the grins on the dock. “At sword point, yet. Come aboard, brothers all. I’ve got a keg of excellent Isilondian brandy aboard, great stuff for drinking bon voyages.”

  Chapter 2

  Having reappeared with clothes on and a smallish oaken keg under his arm, Orca hosted an informal party on deck. Everyone sat cross-legged and passed the same drinking horn around, refilling it as needed. The brandy was liquified thunderstorm.

  “Normally just two hands and m’self,” he said. “Five’ll be a mite cramped. Course, there’ll always be one o’ us on deck,” he conceded, “probably two. We’ll need at least one more water keg, and rations for... Where did you say we were going?”

  They hadn’t, so far, but they would have to trust this overage rapscallion with their plans. “Fitain,” Rhys said.

  The sailor looked to Dad with sudden understanding. “Spender? Course! Wondered where I’d heard yo’r name. Yo’r good health, sir!” He drained the drinking horn and refilled it.

  “This boat is good for b
lue water, I trust?” Dad said. He looked uneasy.

  “Good as any, sir. Never been ’s far ’s Fitain, but no reason why not. We’ll need two extra water casks, maybe three. Rations...”

  “Plus ropes and lanterns,” Dad said.

  Pause. Trusty broke the silence. “Rations for five men for how long?”

  “Three weeks?” Dad said uneasily. “That was coming home. We needed longer outbound.”

  Orca nodded. “And on a bigger vessel than this, I’ll warrant. Might do it in two weeks, best allow two months. That’s outbound.”

  “What’ll our fodder cost, then?”

  The sailor thought for a moment, lips moving. “There and back? Say sixty crowns, maybe eighty if you want to eat fancy.”

  “Our outlays so far have been higher than I anticipated,” Sharp said, with a venomous stare at Rhys.

  “What have I done?”

  “You let Brother Goodwin see both cups! I was budgeting one for him.”

  “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “I thought it would be instinctive! Don’t you have any notion of bargaining technique?”

  “Evidently not.” Rhys emptied his purse on the deck and counted. “Six crowns.”

  Dad and Trusty did the same. Then all three of them looked to Sharp, who reluctantly produced nine. The grand total came to twenty-one and change.

  Orca stuffed the stopper back in the brandy keg. “Yo expect to charter me and me boat, for all summer and more, on that much? I provide the boat and the seamanship and the victuals too?”

  “You get one fifth of the loot, if we find any,” Sharp said.

  “And just what pirate buried this treasure yo’re a-going to dig up? Do I getta look at the map now, the one where X marks the spot?”

  Dad laughed. “The one with bloodstains on the corner? If you recall the Litany of Heroes, there’s a story about three Blades bound to the Chivian ambassador to Fitain. Burl and Dragon died in the civil war. I was lucky and escaped with our ward. King Ambrose had furnished him with a fortune, ten million crowns. Almost all of that was shut up in one leather holdall. I know where that was last seen. If it’s still there and we can retrieve it, you get one fifth.” When Orca did not comment, Dad added, “Blades’ honour.”

  How much did a bent Blade know about honour? He hadn’t said he couldn’t finance the expedition, but his silence certainly implied that he could but wouldn’t. They were asking him to take a lot on faith. How much could a smalltime smuggler have tucked away in his socks box anyway? Recalling Orca’s reputation in his Guard days, Rhys would be more inclined to believe that the man blew it all on wine, women, and girls.

  “For that much I’ll take you across to Isilond, no farther,” Orca declared. “Thassa better bargain than you’ll get anywhere.”

  “That would be a good offer if we were on the run from justice,” Sharp said. The others were leaving the persuasion to him, because he was the one with the reputation. “But we’re not. We have done nothing illegal.”

  Except leave two engraved cups behind as evidence, bribe one of the king’s high-ranking officers, and conspire to steal ten million crowns that the king believed belonged in the royal treasury. Innocent as newborn babes, we are.

  Orca just drooped lower, staring at the deck, perhaps viewing the horrors of marriage, prison, the loss of his boat, and the gallows. Which would be worst? Sharp began to pick up his money and return it to his pouch. A sound of hooves interrupted the negotiations. A youngish man in a red-and-blue uniform dismounted alongside and retrieved some papers from his saddlebag. Also a large brass key. The men on the boat stood up, which put them about level with his knees.

  “Got an order here to release Sea Devil.”

  “Hold there a minute!” Sharp told him. “We may not have a deal yet. You want your boat freed or not, Brother Orca?”

  “Bast’rds, all of yo! Aye, we have a deal.”

  “Shake on it,” Dad said, so the sailor grabbed his hand.

  The port official unlocked the padlock and recovered the chain, putting both in the saddlebag. Then he read some legal gibberish off a paper and told Orca to make his mark on it. Orca growled that he was no illiterate scum, he was a gentleman, and demanded hot wax. That involved some time-wasting with a tinder box and a candle, but eventually he attached his seal in Blade fashion, using the inscribed name on the ricasso of his sword.

  The clerk left, his job done. Orca squared his shoulders and scrutinized his new crew. “I can probably scrape together one meal for all of us aboard, and I know where we can buy our victuals cheaper than here. Ready?”

  “Anchors away!” Trusty said, grinning.

  Orca looked at him with scorn. “You mean, ‘Cast off!’ But we have to raise sail first.”

  “I suggest we do so, and sharpish,” Sharp said. “I would hate the Dark Chamber snoops to arrive before we go.”

  Orca looked around at all of them. “Yo told me all this were legal and aboveboard and yo weren’t on the run.”

  “We’re not,” Dad assured him, “strictly speaking.” Rhys recalled how Dad had always hated people who didn’t say what they meant. “But the money was originally the king’s. When Lord Bannerville lost it, Ambrose made him repay it all. If we find it now, the king may try to grab it back again. Then he could repay Bannerville, except that Bannerville’s dead and left no family. His will made no disposition of his estate, because he didn’t believe he had anything left to leave. In that case the sheriff is sure to rule that he died intestate and everything must revert to the crown. So legal and moral aren’t quite the same in this instance.”

  “They rarely are,” Orca growled cynically.

  Rhys was inclined to agree in this instance. He had not seen it the way Dad had explained it, that legally the money might belong to the king after all. “Then perhaps,” he said, “we ought to move our assembled asses out of here smartish?”

  For a moment the issue hung in the balance, and then the brandy did its work. Orca bellowed with laughter. “Oh, yo’re all men after me own heart! Screw Fat Man! Throw yo’r gear in the hold and let’s get busy.”

  The landlubbers were willing but clumsy and two of them almost fell overboard. In truth Orca did all the work, but eventually Sea Devil began a slow and stately move toward the mouth of the harbour. Sharp was instructed in how to hold the tiller, and the brandy keg came back into use.

  “Rock?” Rhys said. “Did I read it right? Why name your sword Rock?”

  The sailor grinned. “Orca Rock is a nasty reef not far offshore Prail, whar I camed from. A ship that runs into Orca Rock gets its guts ripped out.”

  That called for another toast.

  Their course took them close to the splendid gilt-trimmed Ranulf, riding at anchor. Even with bare masts and no one visible aboard, she was an impressive sight.

  “How many men does that one carry?” Trusty asked.

  Orca grunted. “Hundreds in wartime, more archers than sailors.”

  “A big ship goes faster than a small one, you said?”

  “Catches much more wind, deeper keel to hold the sea when tacking. Why?”

  Trusty nodded. “Just wondering.”

  Just before sunset, Sea Devil made landfall at a tiny fishing village that Orca failed to name. Before tying up at the ramshackle pier, he ordered all cat’s eye swords put out of sight, including his own. He chose Trusty as the strongest to help him roll the water casks to the spring, and then roll them back, which was harder. As he went along the pier, several men working in their boats hailed him by name, although not the name his passengers knew. He responded to each, but without pausing to chat with them.

  He went ashore again alone and vanished among the houses, reappearing with a heavy sack on his back. By then Rhys was growing edgy under the suspicious stares of the locals, so he was not sorry when Orca ordered the painter l
oosed and sails raised. Sea Devil tacked off into the evening breeze, heading—so her master informed the crew—for Isilond.

  The crossing took a day and a half, and their destination was a dreary-looking village called Mauxville.

  “I have to call on a friend,” he explained, “and you must stay aboard, or the boat’ll be stripped to a bare shell before sundown. Remember to ease off the painter as the tide goes out. I’ll be back in the morning, and we’ll stock her for a couple of weeks’ sailing.”

  “He’s got a wife and kids in every port, I’ll bet,” Sharp said enviously as their sailor friend swaggered off into town, cheerfully hailing and being hailed by name, although not one that sounded like either of his Chivian names.

  “And keeps a stash of gold under her mattress, too,” Dad said. “Seventy days’ rations for five men don’t come cheap.”

  And so it went. When the wind dropped, Sea Devil drifted, but her crew could sleep on deck at night and during the day could strip and enjoy some welcome exercise swimming. Unable to spare fresh water to rinse off, they all developed rashes from the salt and prayed for rain. When rain came it brought wind, and they had to pack in below decks, which was very cramped. Seasick persons were not permitted there. Dad, Trusty, and Orca proved to be the best sailors.

  When they ran short of stores, Orca took Sea Devil in, closer to the shore, scouting for habitations where they might find water and buy food. He was soon in territory unknown to him, guided only by a very old and almost illegible portoplan. Some days they hailed fishing boats to ask for guidance, but only Orca knew any Isilondian, and after a couple of weeks the southern dialects defeated even him.

  The passengers became reasonably competent seamen, working the ropes and rarely the sweeps. Their only entertainment was conversation, for no one accepted Sharp’s offer of dice. Dad repeated his story of the Bannerville disaster, adding more details than he had given before. His description of Castelo Velho made Orca clench his teeth. Although he did not put his disbelief into words, Dad could see it as well as anyone.