by Paul Collins
Her hair was dishevelled and her usually powdered face was pasty, her pouting lips pallid. The middle of the night was not kind to Stelka, and she knew it.
‘Answer my question,’ demanded the head magician.
The kindly navigator, who seemed a little cowed by Stelka's presence herself, quickly related Tab's story.
Stelka eyed Tab for several long moments. Tab found herself blushing.
‘Is this so?’ she finally asked, directing her question at Tab.
Tab nodded, then blurted, ‘And they're really close. We have to do something.’
Stelka snorted, and signalled two guards over. ‘Escort this girl back to her lodgings.’ To Tab she said, ‘You had a nightmare, child. Quentaris is the only enchanted city in this rift world. And no one is coming after us.’
‘But it seemed so – real,’ Tab protested.
‘As the best nightmares are,’ said Stelka. ‘Go now, and be thankful I don't have you flogged for charging in here and waking everyone.’
When Tab reported for duty the next morning, Quartermaster Dorissa looked up tiredly from her charts. Tab saw immediately that all was not well.
‘Sit down, Tab,’ Dorissa said, indicating a chair.
Tab felt her insides go cold.
‘I'm really sorry, Tab, but I must relieve you of your duties.’ She held up a hand when Tab opened her mouth to speak. ‘It isn't just about last night. Yes, I've heard. I don't know what you were thinking!’
She sighed. ‘But this other matter … I gave you an important duty yesterday. I was obviously in error to do so. I have been duly chastised.’
‘But I –’ ‘The scrollarrived too late, were observed could forgive your dalliance, as I have on previous occasions. But added to the events of last night … ‘ She shrugged.
‘You caused quite a stir. Wild talk of Tolrush. Our imminent peril. We simply cannot have guild members, no matter how insignificant, opening us to such ridicule.’
‘But it's true,’ cried Tab. ‘Tolrush is out there, and they're coming after us!’
‘Enough,’ said Dorissa. She almost glowered, which Tab had never seen her do before.
‘But what I saw –’
‘Was nothing more than a bad dream. Face it, child.’ Dorissa's voice grew stern, though not unkind. ‘Don't you think I know it broke your heart when you failed the magicians’ test?’
‘But –’
‘I have no choice in this matter,’ said Dorissa sadly. ‘Stelka has spoken. I'm sorry, Tab, but you can no longer serve this guild.’
Tab's vision blurred. She got to her feet unsteadily, blinking back tears. Slowly, in a kind of stupefied trance, she walked to the door. There she stopped, turning.
‘They're coming,’ she said quietly, then ran from the guildhall as fast as she could.
Tab fled through the streets of Quentaris. She didn't stop till she had reached the fifth floor of the lodging house where she lived. She collided with Philmon as he was leaving his room. Philmon was tall and skinny with a mop of brown hair. He was wearing his sky sailor's uniform.
‘Ho, Tab,’ he said. ‘Sorry, can't stop. My shift starts in twenty minutes.’
Tab puffed like a pair of bellows.
‘You all right?’ asked Philmon.
‘Nothing's all right,’ Tab gasped. She quickly told him everything that had happened, including the truth about the visions. He looked hurt when she admitted that she had been getting strange ‘visions’ through the eyes of animals for quite some time.
‘Philmon, I'm sorry I didn't tell you.’
He scowled. ‘I thought we were friends.’
‘You know as well as I do that Tolrushians are reviled for their mind-casting. They control animals with their minds, hideous race that they are. So I was scared … ’
‘Of what I'd think? Of me?’
Tab looked away. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Of me … I thought I was going crazy … I thought you might not … ’ Her voice trailed off.
‘Might not what?’ asked Philmon, hands on his hips. ‘Might not want to be friends with somebody who can see what animals see? Sometimes, Tab, you're as thick as two planks, you know that. I know you're not Tolrushian. It's plain to see!’
Tab smiled, and wiped at her eyes.
‘So you'll help me?’
Philmon blinked. ‘What can I possibly do?’
‘You can get me in to see First Lieutenant Crankshaft.’
Philmon's eyes boggled. ‘Are you joking? He'd have me tossed overboard!’
‘It's important, Philmon. The safety of Quentaris rests on us alerting somebody.’
Philmon was shaking his head. ‘You're asking too much. I mean, what you've told me is so fantastical, even I don't know what to think. Is there any proof?’
He looked at her hopefully. She shook her head. ‘I'm not lying,’ she said stubbornly.
‘I'm not saying you are,’ said Philmon. ‘But you could be wrong. Stelka could be right. Maybe it was just a nightmare.’
‘I'd know the difference,’ said Tab. ‘This was real. They're coming, Philmon. And they're going to catch us unprepared, ‘like sitting ducks.’
Philmon gave a small shuddering sigh. He could imagine what would happen to Quentaris if Tolrush attacked right now. Total panic, and defeat. They would all be killed. And those who weren't would end up as slaves.
‘There's no evidence,’ Philmon said, but his resolve was weakening. ‘We've been travelling a whole year and not set eyes on them … ’
‘They might've been sucked into a different rift world to begin with. But it doesn't matter, because they're here, in this one.’
‘I'll lose my job,’ Philmon said despondently. ‘I mean, First Lieutenant Crankshaft … ’
Thirty minutes later, Philmon was standing to attention on the lower bridge while Tab concluded, once again, her outrageous story.
First Lieutenant Crankshaft nodded when she had finished. ‘Thank you for bringing this to my attention.’ He glanced at Philmon. ‘At ease, ensign.’ He steepled his fingers. ‘Now, although the protection of Quentaris is in our hands, the Admiralty cannot mobilise the city's defences on the basis of a dream.’ As with the magicians, Tab had not explained exactly what kind of vision she had had. ‘And from a non-accredited person at that.’ He shook his head. ‘We have little enough crew to man the rigging, girl. If I take them shipside Quentaris will be compromised. A sudden squall could see us crash. And if that happens … well, it doesn't bear thinking about.’
‘So you won't do anything?’ said Tab. She knew Philmon was glaring at her.
Crankshaft stood. ‘Not won't, child. Can't. Ensign, take this girl home.’
Philmon snapped to attention. ‘Aye-aye, sir.’
‘When you're done, return here immediately,’ said the first lieutenant. ‘And think long and hard on why I'm not relieving you of your duty.’
As soon as they were outside, Philmon rounded on Tab. ‘See? You almost cost me my job. Oh, why did I listen to you?’
Tab ignored him. She looked scared. This made Philmon shut up. ‘So the navy doesn't have enough crew to defend Quentaris,’ said Tab. The idea staggered her. She had never given any thought to their defences before, had never realised just how vulnerable they were.
‘We've never met an enemy we couldn't handle, so what's the –?’
‘Where would you find an extra crew, if you needed one?’
Philmon looked at her balefully. ‘Huh?’
‘Answer me,’ said Tab, urgently.
Philmon scratched his head. ‘I don't know. You'd need people who've got naval experience, I guess.’
Tab's face lit up. ‘That's right,’ she said. ‘You would.’
‘But there aren't any,’ said Philmon. ‘I mean, the Sky Sailors’ Guild is what used to be the Merchant Navy. We've already got everybody with shipboard time, even the deck scrubbers!’
‘Not everybody,’ said Tab, and she turned and sprinted away. Philmon stared after her, frown
ing.
‘Absolutely not!’ Fontagu said crossly to Tab. He always got cross when he was frightened. ‘Count me out. There is nothing you can say to change my mind.’
An hour later, Tab was creeping along a wall, keeping to the shadows. She came to a sudden stop. Somebody bumped into her from behind.
‘Fontagu!’
‘You said to stay close,’ came his nervous reply.
‘Not that close!’
Fontagu grumbled, backing off an inch or two. He looked furtively about in all directions. ‘This is a big mistake,’ he hissed, not for the first time. ‘They'll slit our throats and make us beg for mercy!’
‘Probably not in that order,’ said Tab, but she kept her voice too low for Fontagu to hear. She had to admit it was a crazy plan. Even stage one was crazy: that is, enter the Thieves’ Quarter unarmed and at night. It was well known that the city watchmen themselves avoided the quarter after dark, unless they were at least a squadron strong, or on a suicide mission.
Tab gave Fontagu a quick look. Once again, she nearly laughed. He had donned a thief's outfit, as he called it. He wore baggy pantaloons, a gold-braided vest with brass buttons and puffed sleeves, a head scarf, and – as usual – a fake wooden sword painted silver to look real. Tab had had a big job talking him out of wearing an eye patch.
‘You read too many trashy stories,’ she had told him in exasperation.
It wasn't hard finding the tavern called The Purple Wart, partly because some enterprising owner had paid to have a gigantic nose bearing a wart, complete with little wart hairs, erected above the main door. By some magic, the wart even changed colour, from red to blue to glorious purple.
‘Charming,’ said Tab, eyeing the monstrosity. ‘You sure that's the place?’
Fontagu nodded. ‘Can I go now?’
‘Sure.’
‘Really?’ Fontagu seemed surprised.
‘Yep,’ said Tab. ‘If you want to walk all the way back through the Thieves’ Quarter by yourself wearing those ridiculous clothes, be my guest.’
Fontagu straightened up and looked down his nose at her. ‘My clothes are not ridiculous,’ he said.
‘I take it that means you're coming with me?’
Fontagu sniffed. ‘As concern for a child of your tender years is always my first priority, I do believe that in this case my presence is required, in spite of the obvious danger to my person.’
‘Could you repeat that?’ asked Tab. ‘No, don't bother. I'll remind you of it later if I need to.’
Fontagu bristled but said nothing.
Tab checked the street. All was clear. ‘Ready?’ she asked Fontagu.
He gulped and nodded. He appeared to have something wrong with his voice.
Tab hurried across the street to the tavern and pushed open the door. The hubbub dwindled gradually. All eyes were fixed on Tab and Fontagu, and not all of them were friendly. In fact, very few of them were.
Tab took a deep breath and headed across the room. According to Fontagu, who seemed to have an uncommonly detailed knowledge of the Quentaran underworld, the man Tab sought kept a booth at the back of The Purple Wart once or twice a week.
She was almost across the room when a thickset troll stepped out of an archway in front of her. His broad shoulders blocked out the door. By the smell of him, he was a drainer.
Tab looked up into the troll's mad, blazing eyes. She swallowed. No one in their right mind messed with a troll. Especially one with such disgusting breath and so many teeth.
‘Er, hello … ’ said Tab, sounding as friendly as she could.
The troll thrust out his hand and growled. His blubbery mouth twitched. Tab got the definite impression he was about to bite off her head, when –
‘Leave her be, Vrod,’ said a voice.
‘Sweet meat, good eating,’ the troll said. His voice sounded like gravel being crushed.
A hand tapped Vrod on the shoulder and the troll stepped grudgingly aside, though he never took his mad eyes off Tab.
Tab shifted her gaze to the man now standing before her. His eyes suddenly flashed in recognition. ‘You?’ he said in amazement. It was the same man who had tried to steal the magicians’ icefire gem more than a year ago, the same man she had locked in the pantry.
Great, Tab thought to herself. Just great.
She started to back away. ‘Uh … I think I made a mistake.’ She turned, intending to dart for the door.
‘Seize her!’ yelled the man. She felt vice-like arms close around her and she was lifted off the floor. ‘Bring the other one too.’
Tab heard Fontagu's whinnying whimper close behind as they were taken to a booth against the far wall. Tab was shoved into a seat and Fontagu squeezed hurriedly in next to her, looking as if he was ready to burst into tears. ‘Don't hurt me, please, please don't hurt me,’ he wailed over and over.
‘Vrod,’ said the tall man. ‘Shut him up. Nicely.’
Fontagu suddenly found a wad of phlegm-smeared cloth had been shoved in his mouth. His eyes widened indignantly but Vrod leaned down close to his face. Fontagu tried an unsuccessful smile.
‘That will do, Vrod.’ The tall man seated himself opposite them. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Tab. ‘I don't take kindly to being locked in a closet and left waiting for the tender attentions of magicians!’
‘Sorry about that. But I did set you free. You know, the string –?’
‘Ah, yes. The string. I suppose I do have you to thank for that. Imprisoned me, then freed me. Well, in that case, drinks all round.’ He shouted orders. When he turned back he saw a look of such confusion on Tab's face that he burst out laughing.
‘Come now, we must have honour among thieves. There is so little any place else!’
‘Does that mean you're not going to kill us?’
‘Kill you? Why, perish the thought. Not only do I owe you my life, twice over – for I would never have made it out of there alive had I had the gem with me! – but I bow before a greater thief than I.’ And he did just that. He stood up and bowed to her in a princely fashion.
Tab squirmed uncomfortably.
Fontagu gurgled something. ‘I think he's trying to say he helped,’ said Tab. Fontagu nodded vigorously. The tall man saluted him.
‘Now tell me why a slip of a girl like yourself, and one such as he’ – he indicated Fontagu – ‘would take such a risk as to come to a place like this at night?’
‘Are you Lord Verris?’
The tall man blinked. ‘I am he indeed. And at your service.’
‘Then I need your help,’ said Tab. ‘Quentaris needs your help … ’
__________________________
** Indeed, a whole new vocabulary had sprung up this last year: uppermost meant the topmost sections of the masts, including the crow's nests or lookouts; uppity meant someone who thought they were too good for plain folk, and should be a sky sailor; uptime meant the duration of one's stay amongst the sails and rigging; and uptowner had come to mean those sailors and officers who lived permanently aloft like the former roofies, rarely coming down, except in death; even the adjective uppish had come to mean something quite fine, or splendid.
THE CLASH
Verris left the Sailors’ Guild headquarters with a spring in his step and misgivings in his heart.
Thinking back on his conversation with Captain Bellgard, he hoped that he hadn't been duped by the girl. For sure, she had risked much in coming to see him, and had already lost her job at the guild for trying to convince the magicians. But if he had read her wrong, then he and his crew were about to become a permanent part of the Sailors’ Guild – a submissive part, one that had to take orders.
On the other hand, if he were right, he would soon be head of a semi-independent yet-to-be-named new guild. Navies were good at keeping their ships afloat – a full-time job in itself. It was a bit much to expect them to be specialists in two areas at the same time.
Hence the need for a corps of marines. And a Marine Commander. Once, long a
go, the marines had been the navy's fighting force, going where the navy could not always go: on sea and on land.
He found Borges and told him about the deal he had struck with Captain Bellgard.
Borges stared at him, aghast. ‘And what was wrong with our old guild?’