The Fall of the Dagger (The Forsaken Lands)

by Glenda Larke

  Sorrel stiffened at his words.

  That evil man’s bastard. That’s what the captain had been going to say. He’d caught himself when he remembered Barklee had no idea of Piper’s possible parentage.

  She stood up, saying, “I still have every intention of taking her to the Pontifect, as soon as I can be on my way.” When he didn’t reply she added, “Right now, I had better check that Banstel has managed to get her to sleep.”

  However, before she could leave the wardroom, Grig Cranald appeared in the doorway to interrupt. “Cap’n, sir, a sailboat just approached the starboard bow. It looked like Master Rotherby’s wherry, so I didn’t sound the alarm, but it veered away at the last moment. Someone lobbed this on to our weather deck as it passed.” He held out an oilskin packet.

  Juster rose to take it from him with a nod. “Did you see Rotherby?”

  “No, cap’n. I don’t think he was on board. And the wherry headed back to Throssel, as far as I could tell. No lights. Reckon it didn’t want anyone on shore to know it came here.”

  Juster opened the packet and took out the folded paper it contained. Face blank, he read the contents, then returned to the beginning and read it again as if he was having trouble believing what was written there. “It is from Rotherby, my agent, I’m sure of that, although he hasn’t signed it. But—” He shook his head. “It’s unimaginable. The news, I mean.”

  He glanced around the table, his expression a warning that none of them would like what he was about to say. “He writes that Prince Ryce has been removed from the line of succession in favour of his son, Prince Garred, who has been declared a ward of the Crown. However, Ryce refused to surrender Garred to the king’s men, and fled to his northern seat, a keep near Twite, with his wife, Princess Bealina of Staravale, and their son. They are now under siege there. A place called Gromwell Holdfast. I was there once, with his highness. Rotherby also says the king has dismissed his advisory Council.”

  “So who’s in char—” Saker began, then stopped. “Fox. Of course.”

  Juster nodded, his expression of distaste saying more than any words would. “Rotherby mentions, very politely, that Prime Valerian Fox is now Pontifect Fox. Pontifect Fritillary Reedling was killed when Vavala was taken by marauding Primordials about six months ago, and he was then unanimously elected to the post by the synod. So Fox, with the aid of his clerics, rules Va-faith throughout the Va-cherished Hemisphere. He’s also governing Ardrone through his position as Lord Chancellor to King Edwayn.”

  A hammer blow of shock thudded into the centre of Saker’s breast. “Fritillary died?”

  “The letter does not mention exactly how,” Juster said, sympathy softening his tone. He looked up from the letter. “I’m sorry. We both know that the post of Pontifect is for life, and they wouldn’t have held another election unless she was dead.”

  Fritillary. He swayed, heart pounding. Sweet Va. “When did this happen?”

  “He’s not precise about how long Prince Ryce has been holed up in Gromwell, but the fall of Vavala was six months ago.”

  Saker gave a derisive snort. “One thing I can tell you, it wasn’t marauding Primordials. They couldn’t organise themselves long enough to agree on what to throw into a stew pot, let alone bring down a city. And I won’t be convinced Fritillary’s dead until I find someone who saw her corpse.”

  “There is a warning at the bottom of the letter. Rotherby says to watch out for armed men called Grey Lancers. There’s more that concerns us too,” Juster continued. “All spice cargoes have been declared the king’s property. All ocean-going merchant vessels are now annexed for the use of the Royal Merchant Navy.”

  It was Cranald who broke the stunned silence that followed this news. “Golden Petrel included?”

  “So it seems.” Juster’s grated reply left no doubt of how he felt.

  “Well, fuck that for a possibility!” Cranald took a deep breath. “Not while there’s a single one of us sailors left alive, cap’n.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, Grig, but Edwayn is our king, so guard your tongue before you end up dancing from a gibbet.” Saker was used to Juster’s ability to separate his friendship for Grig Cranald, lover, from his captain’s attitude to Grig Cranald, ship’s mate, but even he found that remark harsh.

  “And Lowmeer?” Sorrel asked, breaking the startled silence in the cabin. “What of Lowmeer?”

  “Not mentioned.” Juster took a deep breath. “Cranald, ready the pinnace, will you? I’m going ashore.”

  Grig continued to look appalled, but his reply was disciplined. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “After I’ve left, move the ship further west of Curlew Cape. No lights. If we’re lucky, no one will see you shift anchorage. It’s a cloudy night.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Will you be going ashore alone?”

  It was obvious that Cranald would have given much to go with his captain, but as the senior officer on a ship that was short on crew, there was no way that could happen.

  “I’ll go with you,” Saker said.

  Juster snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous! You were nulled. You were supposed to die, or at the very least be exiled, remember? You can just imagine what King Edwayn would say if you turned up at his gate. Fox, on the other hand, would be ecstatic at your crass stupidity. Anyway, I have something else I want you to do come sun-up. Your beaked and taloned messenger boy has to carry a letter to Port Hornbeam because I want Finch to sell the spice cargoes on our two prizes immediately. In Hornbeam, for whatever price he can get in his pocket.”

  Cranald gave a strangled sound of protest. “In Hornbeam? What kind of a price will you get in a tinpot port like Hornbeam?”

  “More than I’ll get in Throssel, it seems! Here the king will have it all, and apparently my ship as well. Or more likely Fox will, I wouldn’t mind wagering. In fact, Mate Cranald, your orders are to make sure no one gets their hands on the nutmeg in our hold, either. You sail without me if it looks like any of the king’s ships come near. Take the Golden Petrel to Twite. That’s where we’ll sell the nutmeg. I’ll join you there overland, if you have to leave me behind. Understand? I’ll give you my seal of authority, just in case – although I have every intention of returning to the ship before tomorrow morning.”

  Cranald flushed, probably with shock at being trusted with not only the ship, but with Dornbeck’s seal. Saker guessed this was Juster’s way of indicating he was not truly irritated with the man, and his previous annoyance had been to indicate the need to be circumspect when it came to matters of treason.

  “Surely the king wouldn’t take all your cargo,” Sorrel said. “It makes no sense! You’d never make another voyage.”

  “But my Petrel would. My beautiful lady would sail without me.” His voice filled with rage. “I’d sink her first.”

  “Is it wise to go to the king, then? If he’s mad, and wanting to steal your ship—” she began.

  “King Edwayn is my liege lord, and I must know that there is no way I can help him before I act against him.”

  Saker almost groaned. “If what your agent says is true, you’re doomed, probably even before you reach the king. Fox wouldn’t let you near King Edwayn. Believe me, you don’t want to taste Prime Fox’s brand of justice, nor lie in one of the cells in the king’s keep.”

  “Nonetheless, Edwayn is my king. This is something I must do.” His smile was more ironic than amused. “I may be a buccaneer, but I still have a sense of honour.”

  Saker did groan this time. “Now? Of all times?”

  “Don’t worry, witan. You’ll get your money, I promise.”

  He had no idea what Juster meant and raised an eyebrow in question.

  “You’ve forgotten? You won a wager, remember? Ten per cent of the cargo profits…”

  “Sweet cankers! You weren’t serious, surely.” He’d beaten Lord Juster in a race to the top of the mainmast, a contest that had seemed asinine even at the time.

  “I never jest about money. Or my hon
our – or my ship if it comes to that. But let’s turn our minds to tonight…”

  “I’ll go with you, Lord Juster,” Sorrel said. “I know the palace better than you, I feel sure. At night, by candlelight, my glamour is doubly undetectable. Should you find yourself in trouble, I’d be in a position to aid you.”

  Saker was appalled. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sorrel!”

  She arched an eyebrow in interrogation. “Oh? Would you like to explain why my offer is to be ridiculed? I seem to remember a time when you were happy enough to have it.”

  Oh, rot it! She was remembering him naked on the moor, he could tell. “If there is someone with a witchery, they will see the glow of your glamour.”

  “All the time that I was sneaking about the palace with a glamour,” she said, “I was never detected because there was no one with a witchery at court. King Edwayn would never have agreed to your appointment if you’d had a witchery back then!”

  “That’s true,” Juster said before he could think of a suitably sharp reply. “Your offer is accepted, Mistress Sorrel. Your knowledge and your witchery will be very useful. You, however, Saker, are definitely staying behind.” He turned to Cranald. “Ask someone to bring up that gilded salt cellar from the orlop would you?”

  The mate was flummoxed. “You’re taking a salt cellar?”

  “One does not visit the king after a long voyage without an expensive, ornate gift.”

  “I hardly think—” Saker began.

  “Do not presume to advise me on how to conduct my relationship with my liege lord, Saker. My family has a long history of service and loyalty, and I will not shatter that until I am certain I have justice and right on my side.” He turned to Surgeon Barklee, who had been silent throughout the exchange. “I’d like you to come with me to your brother’s house. I need as much information as I can get before going to the palace, and I am loath to involve Agent Rotherby at this point. He obviously does not want to draw further attention to our business arrangements.”

  “Of course.”

  “If all is well in your household, would your wife welcome another child into your home?” Juster asked.

  Barklee shot an uncomfortable look at Sorrel, who appeared stunned. “You mean Piper?” he asked. “Mariet would be delighted. Nothing she likes better than surrounding herself with bairns to love—”

  “Don’t think to dispose of Piper like an unwanted piece of jetsam, my lord,” Saker interrupted. “Not without consulting Sorrel. Or me. That is beyond—”

  She touched his arm to silence him. “No. Wait. Go on, my lord.”

  “It’s true I’ve never wanted her on board after I knew more of her… antecedents. But that has nothing to do with my suggestion now.” He stood and went to look out the aft window of the wardroom, even though there was little to see in the darkness. “I fear what might happen to my ship tomorrow. Possibly there will be a fire fight. We passed three royal sloops-of-war anchored back there near the Throssel docks. They might be small, but they are fully armed and they’re very manoeuvrable in waters like these, compared to us.” He turned back to look at Sorrel. “You have experienced cannon fire, mistress.”

  Her silent regard was sombre.

  “Piper would be safer with Barklee’s family ashore,” he continued. “He will stay with her. We can send Banstel as well. She adores that lad. If all is well, she can come back on board when we do, until more permanent arrangements are made. It’s just a temporary measure.”

  She gave a reluctant nod. “If that is acceptable to Surgeon Barklee and his family.”

  The surgeon was quick to agree, and Saker, overruled, subsided. There was good sense in the idea, but he still didn’t like it.

  Juster turned to Cranald again. “You have your orders.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Perhaps Master Ardhi and Surgeon Barklee would assist me with the salt cellar, seeing as we are short-handed?”

  “And I’ll change my gown while you do that,” Sorrel said, and followed them out. Saker watched her go, worried. She was wearing her favourite blue dress, the one with the disturbingly low-cut bodice. As usual, she’d attempted to cover the tantalising plunge of her cleavage with the kerchief he had once given her, and, also as usual, he found the endeavour even more of a distraction. Worse, it made him feel uncomfortable, simply because it was Sorrel. Pickles ’n’ hay, how long had it been since he’d bedded a woman? Far too long apparently…

  His thoughts strayed to Gerelda, until he dragged them back to the present. “Three men to carry a salt cellar?” he asked, incredulous, after the others had disappeared below.

  “It is heavy. A gilded automaton, with clockwork insides and a set of bellows that plays a miniature organ when you pick up the salt spoon. Utterly delightful Pashali workmanship. Shaped like a ship with blown glass rigging and sails—”

  “Right. A gift fit for a king. But my lord, about Sorrel—”

  “Don’t say it, my friend,” Juster said. “We’re all in this together. You know that. You can’t protect her. We work together or not at all.”

  “My head knows that, but sometimes—” He sighed. “And Piper? Piper’s a child, my lord.”

  “She’s a sorcerer’s child. A devil-kin. Our hemisphere would be better off if both the twins died, and you know it. Now, tell me, will you be able to get that message to Finch in Hornbeam?”

  “It’s a long way, but I’ll do my best.” His stomach cramped. He’d have to twin with the sea eagle and he had no idea how often he could do that before his humanity was subsumed by the mind of a bird. A raptor, with a killer’s instinct.

  As he headed for the door, Juster said, “And the next time you start calling me ‘my lord this’ and ‘my lord that’ when you’re peeved with me, I’m likely to duck you headfirst in a water butt.”

  Fob it, Saker. How do you manage to make everyone annoyed with you in the space of a few minutes? He took a deep breath and followed Juster up to the weather deck.

  The night was dark, with a half-moon just a dim glow where it skulked behind thick cloud. Seamen cursed – albeit softly – as they winched one of the ship’s boats down into water they could scarcely see.

  A good night for sneaking around a town, Saker thought as he leaned against the bulwarks around the weather deck. He waited quietly, fingering the hilt of his sword. When Sorrel came up from below, the blue dress was gone, but even in the dark, he could identify her. By the standards of the Va-cherished Hemisphere, dressed as a man like this she was a hoyden, but he was reminded of a cat, graceful and limber. She spent a lot of time up in the rigging, and Ardhi had been teaching her to fight as they did in Chenderawasi. Both activities had developed muscles a woman wasn’t supposed to have and he was appreciative.

  She came to stand beside him, not speaking. Piper, warmly wrapped, was sound asleep against her shoulder.

  “You’re doing the right thing,” he said quietly. “I do know that. I just find it hard to stay behind and wait, knowing you could be in danger.”

  “I know. That’s what friends are for – to worry about us. To care.”

  “And to help, surely.”

  “Sometimes. But my glamour is my strength, and it is just as powerful as your sword arm, or your connection to birds. It serves me well.”

  “I know that, too, and I do understand why Juster feels he has to do this, but I suspect it’s not going to end well. Expect the worst.”

  “I will. I do. If things go wrong, I have the pieces of the Chenderawasi tail feather.”

  The trouble was that none of them knew quite what to do with them. “Only to be used in the direst emergency,” he said, and added wryly, “Accidentally swallowing one is not something I’d recommend.” That had changed him, and he would not have wished the result on anyone.

  Juster came out on the deck from his cabin, clad – as far as Saker could tell in the dark – in his best suit of clothes, complete with rings, brooches and an earring, and with his sword at his side. A moment later, Ardhi and Barklee
emerged from below, lugging a wooden box between them.

  “Good,” Juster said. “I’ll hire a couple of dock lumpers onshore to carry it to the palace for me. Get it loaded on the pinnace.”

  “He’s daft,” Saker muttered to Sorrel.

  She gave a low laugh in amused agreement.

  Several minutes later the pinnace pulled away, rowed by several sailors, with Surgeon Barklee, Banstel the ship’s boy, Sorrel, Piper and Juster on board.

  Ardhi came to stand beside Saker. “The sailors are going to wait for them at the docks until dawn,” he remarked. “If they haven’t returned by then, the men are under orders to leave for Golden Petrel anyway.”

  “And Grig will up anchor and head for Twite.”

  “Those are Juster’s orders,” Ardhi agreed neutrally.

  “Hmm.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Same as you, I suspect.”

  Cranald came to lean on the bulwarks next to Saker and Ardhi. “I can’t leave the ship,” he said. “And that fobbing bastard knows I won’t.”

  “You do realise, don’t you,” Saker said softly, “that I don’t have to be on the ship to persuade that bird of mine to go to Hornbeam. I can do that from the docks… the town… anywhere. Although I do have to wait for dawn, because it won’t fly at night.”

  “I thought that might be the case.” Grig paused and they all fell silent until the pinnace was well and truly swallowed by the dark. Then he added, “I think I’ll order the men to launch the dinghy and leave it tied up to the pilot ladder. Just in case it’s needed…”

  Saker gave a shrug that fooled no one. “Excellent notion.”

  “This ship needs its captain.” Grig’s voice was unusually husky.

  “I agree.”

  “I’m sure I can rely on you to do what’s best.”

  As Cranald walked away, Ardhi grinned broadly. “Juster is going to be very angry with us.”

  “So you’re coming with me?”

  “Try and stop me!”