Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 01] - The Fifth Ring (v1.0)

by Mitchell Graham

  Mathew's expression immediately changed. Devondale was located in Werth Province. Ashford, where they had been telling people in Elberton they were from, was situated in Lankton Province, farther to the north.

  "Relax, lad," Captain Donal said. "Your uncle Siward told me the truth. Why you're here and where you're bound is your business. He said you were a quick one. If Ceta Woodall vouched for the lot of you, that's good enough for me. Besides, she'd have my head on a platter if I didn't help," he added with a wink.

  Mathew relaxed.

  "Come. I'll show you the ship."

  Oliver Donal was not a tall man, but he was powerfully built, and if his grip were any indication, Mathew decided he would be a good person to have on his side if trouble came. In contrast to his dark brown beard, his hair was a mixture of gray and lighter browns, bleached from long exposure to the elements. Like many men whose life was on the water, his face was deeply tanned and weathered.

  Mathew soon found that the captain, though affable, could be blunt in his speech and manner. On one occa­sion, noticing one of his crew resplicing a line he had or­dered replaced, he burst forth with a string of oaths, some of which Mathew had never heard before.

  Mathew had resolved to ask what something was if he didn't know, and Captain Donal seemed more than will­ing to indulge his barrage of questions. The ship was more than two hundred feet from jib boom—a new term for Mathew—to the stern. The deck was yellow teak, with a polished brass rail running around most of its perimeter.

  The captain showed him his own quarters at the rear of the ship, and where they would sleep during their run downriver to the Great Southern Sea before making the crossing over to Tyraine. "Sleep," Mathew decided, was an accurate word, because the room was little larger than a closet, but at least it was better than the thirty-six inches allotted for each of the fifteen crew members to sling their hammocks belowdeck. The problem, Captain Donal confided, was Lara. He wasn't quite sure what to do

  about her accommodations yet. The Wave Dancer was a working vessel, he explained, not fitted out for female passengers.

  It was obvious Oliver Donal was proud of his ship, and perceiving Mathew's interest, he gave him a tour of everything from the cargo holds to the anchor cable, not to mention the ship's figurehead—a bare-breasted wom­an with long hair located at the bow. Fascinated with the newness of it all, Mathew tried to memorize the name and function of each object that was pointed out to him. Captain Donal, finding an apt pupil, seemed more than happy to oblige.

  More than two hours passed before Oliver Donal, weary from speaking, bade Mathew goodbye. He shook his head and watched the long-legged young man walk down the companionway, reciting to himself the names of things, like mizzen mast, mainsail, and cable tier, as he went.

  21

  Elberton, the Blue Goose

  By the time Mathew reached Water Street, aptly named for its proximity to the Roeselar, he was famished. Since he was too late for the midday meal, and too early for dinner, he decided to stop at the Blue Goose Tavern, which Effie had mentioned. Fortunately, the late after­noon breeze shifted, taking with it those distinctive odors coming from the tanneries.

  The Blue Goose was as different from the Nobody's Inn as two places could possibly be. It took Mathew's eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness after he walked in. A long dark wood bar ran the length of the common room. Two men dressed like sailors stood at the far end and eyed him briefly before resuming their conversation. The innkeeper also looked up at him and returned to pol­ishing some drinking glasses.

  It seemed to Mathew that the man had decided he was invisible, for he made no move toward him despite a number of attempts to attract his attention. In the hope of having better luck with one of the serving girls, Mathew took a seat at a table in the corner of the room. Whatever prior attempts had been made to clean it were negligible at best, much like the rest of the Blue Goose. There were a few other people, men mostly, scattered about the room. After spending ten more minutes being ignored, Mathew decided to head back to the Nobody's Inn. Maybe he could convince Effie to give him a loaf of bread or some­thing until dinner. He started to get up when a voice stopped him.

  "Leaving?"

  Mathew recognized the man as Will, the one who brought their packs up when they arrived.

  "I don't seem to have much luck getting anyone who works here to take my order," he replied.

  "They probably think you're not seventeen yet. Can't drink in this province less you are. It's a new law the duchess's advisers dreamed up. No one under seventeen can buy a drink anywhere in the Berne."

  It surprised Mathew that anyone might consider him young-looking, given his height and the fact that he was carrying a sword.

  "I'll be eighteen in two weeks," he replied, slightly offended.

  Will stuck his lower lip out and shrugged. "Here now, Ed," he called to the bartender, "what's a man got to do to get some service? Me young friend here's seventeen and all but dead of thirst from being ignored in this place."

  The bartender glanced over, scrutinized them for a mo­ment, then gave a small nod to one of the serving girls, who was in the process of using a dirty rag to clean a table. The girl sauntered over, still carrying the rag, and took Mathew's order with the same enthusiasm she had expended on the table. A few minutes later she returned with a bottle of red wine and a sandwich that looked less than appetizing. The meat was stringy, but after a tenta­tive bite, Mathew decided it was passable. Out of cour­tesy, he asked her to bring an extra glass for Will, who, uninvited, had sat down to keep him company.

  "So you're from Ashford Town," Will said, downing his wine in one gulp.

  Mathew refilled his glass. "Right. I'm Mathew Lewin," he said, extending his hand.

  "Will Tavish. And what would be bringing you this far south, if you don't mind my asking?"

  Mathew shook his head and repeated Akin's story about accompanying Lara to visit relatives in Barcora.

  "She's a real eyeful, that one," Will offered with a wink. "Not promised to anyone, is she?"

  Mathew resisted the urge to tell Will to keep a civil tongue in his head, and instead answered, "No." After taking another bite of his sandwich, he added, "She has a mean temper," pleased with himself for thinking of it.

  "Well, you know what they say, 'fire on the outside, heat on the inside.'"

  Will finished draining his second glass and put it down on the table, suggestively nearer to Mathew than himself.

  Mathew took a breath and filled it again. "Have you lived in Elberton long?" he asked, changing the subject

  "Pah. Not much longer than you. I was working a freight boat that stopped to pick up some cargo a few weeks back, you see. Captain got himself killed in a fight the morning we was to push off—rot his bones." Will spat on the floor for emphasis. "Left the crew high and dry. The authorities impounded the ship, and I've been on the beach ever since, waiting for the owner to show up and pay off."

  "On the beach?"

  "Dry-docked, boy. No gainful employment."

  "But you work for Mistress Woodall, don't you?"

  "That baggage. Do this, Will. Do that, Will. Take this here—put that there. It's enough to drive a man to drink," he said, with a less-than-transparent look at his empty glass.

  Mathew frowned and refilled it again, but halfway this time.

  "Thankee. Much obliged."

  "I'm sorry to hear about your troubles. What do you plan to do?" Mathew asked.

  A pair of shrewd eyes suddenly looked back at him. "Don't rightly know yet," Will answered, lowering his voice, "but there's a fortune in wool and copper tied up in the hold of that ship, let me tell you. Captain also had him a lockbox filled with silver coin. It's hidden under one of the planks in his cabin. I saw him stow it there one night m'self. He didn't know I was watching through the hatch, but I saw him hide it as plain as the nose on your face."

  Will looked around the tavern before continuing.

  "Haven't been able to
get near it, though. They put a guard onboard when they impounded the ship. Seems the captain forgot to settle his port taxes before getting him­self killed."

  Mathew nodded and tried to appear sympathetic while he sought for an excuse to politely separate himself from Will's company without offending him.

  'Two mates of mine is joining me here in just a little while. We've got a plan to take the vessel before anyone's the wiser," Will confided with a wink.

  From the smell of Will's breath, which reached him from across the table, Mathew guessed that he'd been drinking for some time.

  "You know—if a bright lad like yourself was to throw in with us, we might cut you in for a share. Not a full share mind you, but say a tenth part."

  "That's very decent of you, but I've promised to take my cousin to Barcora."

  Will sat back and looked at Mathew. He helped him­self, unasked this time, to another glass of wine. "Seems there's a lot of you to take one girl to visit relatives. Even a comely one like her."

  "We're a very close family," Mathew replied flatly.

  Will didn't answer right away. He just looked into his glass.

  "I suppose I'd better be getting on before they come searching for me," Mathew added, as casually as he could.

  "Say . . . what about your uncle? He looks like a ready enough sort. Do you suppose he'd be interested? It'll take five to crew the ship."

  "My uncle?" Mathew asked, then realized he was re­ferring to Father Thomas. "No ... I don't think he'd be interested. He's funny about things like that."

  "Straitlaced type, is he?" The words came out slurred.

  "A little more than most," Mathew replied.

  "Just my luck to be beached in a place like this."

  A little warning voice in the back of his head told Mathew that the tone of the conversation was changing along with Will's mood, which seemed to be increasingly morose. Mathew decided the rest of the wine was forfeit and reached into his vest pocket for his coin purse. He put it on the table, in the hopes of attracting the serving girl's attention. He was sorry as soon as he did. Will's eyes reg­istered the purse, but looked away again just as quickly. Unfortunately, the girl was nowhere to be seen. With nothing else to do but wait for her to reappear, Mathew causally rested his right hand on top of the purse and poured himself another drink.

  The shrewd look returned to Will's face. "Interesting ring you've got there."

  "Thanks."

  "I've not seen any with its coloring before. Is it worth much?"

  "Actually, it's not mine," Mathew explained. "I'm keeping it for the family of a friend of mine."

  "Why don't your friend give it to them himself?"

  "Because he's dead," Mathew said, getting deeper into an explanation than he cared to.

  "Dead? You don't say? What of?"

  "A fever," Mathew answered, looking around in vain for the serving girl once more. Instead he saw two men, one short and heavy, and the other rail thin, approaching the table. They were dressed like many of the other sailors he'd seen that day. Will saw them too and waved. Neither returned the greeting, but they came over, as Mathew swept the coin purse back into his pocket, and sat down. Mathew found himself effectively wedged in by the fat one, who smelled like a mixture of sweat and fish.

  "These are the mates I was telling you about. Bert... Jack, this here is Mat Lewin, just in this day from Ashford Town."

  "Ashford?" the skinny one snorted. "I'll bet you're glad to be clear of that place. I heard the Nyngaryns all but flattened it. A big fight it was supposed to be too. A bos'n's mate I know swore the passenger he talked to told

  him Orlocks was in the fight as well. Can you imagine that?"

  The heavy one shrugged and said nothing.

  "Were many people killed?" Mathew asked.

  "Don't know—but that's what generally happens in a fight, isn't it? Ain't that right, Bert?"

  Bert gave him a sour look and picked up the wine bot­tle, downing the remainder of its contents. "We've got business to talk about, Tavish," he said, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt.

  "I was just telling young Mat here that he ought to throw in with us. A bright young fella like him could do right well if he was to play his cards right."

  "Tavish, you're a bloody fool," Jack spat out from across the table. "And that stupid tongue of yours is going to get us all hanged one day."

  "It takes five to crew that ship, and you know it," Will shot back. "How's the three of us going to do it by our­selves? Young Mat's got family here. Five of 'em, so I counted, and what with them coming on hard times, with the news and all, it just seemed a natural opportunity to place in their path."

  "You told others besides this boy?" Bert asked, going red in the face, and his tone becoming dangerous.

  "I ain't spoke to no one besides him. What d'ya think I am?"

  "I know what you are. You're a loudmouthed jackass who can't hold his drink or keep his big yap shut."

  "A fine one you are to talk," Will said. "We've been two weeks rotting here waiting for you to come up with a plan to take that ship. And what's it gotten us so far? Nothing, I say."

  "Well, now we're going to have to do something about him, aren't we?" Bert said in a vehement whisper, as if Mathew weren't seated right next to him.

  The three men brought their heads together and began whispering fiercely to each other, still ignoring the fact that Mathew was there. He watched the exchange and made no comment. Instead he let his hand drift below the table and come to rest on the hilt of his belt knife. The conversation continued to escalate, along with their tem­pers. There seemed little question trouble was about to erupt, and that he was going to be in the middle of it, par­ticularly in light of Bert's last statement. Fortunately, the long-absent serving girl chose that moment to reappear from wherever it was that serving girls go when you want them. Seeing the new additions to the booth, she wan­dered over to take their orders, with slightly more anima­tion than she had previously shown.

  Several more people were now in the room.

  Mathew realized that if he didn't do something then, he might not have another chance, given the way Jack was looking at him.

  "What can I get you gents?" the girl asked.

  "I'd like to get another bottle of this wine," Mathew said quickly. "Elberton is a wonderful town. Did you know in Ashford, where I'm from, I can't even buy a bot­tle like this until I turn seventeen?"

  The serving girl's mouth dropped open and she blinked in surprise. Then she turned and yelled "Ed!" to the bar­tender clear across the room, in a voice that would have done Captain Donal proud.

  A moment later a livid tavern owner grabbed Mathew by his collar and physically pulled him from the booth, directly across a surprised Bert. The owner was accom­panied by a large unpleasant looking helper carrying a thick club with leather wrapped around the handle. He seemed prepared to use it. Mathew thought that Jack and Will might intervene, but seeing the odds and notic­ing the man's club, they decided to give the idea further consideration.

  "What do you mean coming in here and lying about your age?" the owner shouted, his face contorted in anger. "I could lose my license because of the likes of you, you wet-nosed little whelp." After practically dragging Ma­thew across the floor, which he resisted in a token fashion, Mathew found himself tossed unceremoniously out into the street.

  "And don't let me catch you coming back here again, or I'll have Ern lay into you proper! You understand me?" Ed yelled.

  Mathew got up and dusted himself off. It didn't take much to figure out that Ern was the scowling fellow next to him, slapping the club suggestively in his palm.

  "I'm sorry, sir, but my cousin Will said you wouldn't mind—and that he was a good friend of yours."

  Both men looked at each other, then turned and headed deliberately back into the Blue Goose. In a corner of Mathew's mind he recalled an old saying that went something like, He who lives and runs away, lives to fight another day.

&nb
sp; Excellent advice, he decided.

  He began to jog down the street, leaving the ever-increasing noises and shouts coming from the tavern be­hind him.

  Shadows cast by homes and shops were lengthening as the light faded. Beyond the opposite bank of the Roese-lar, the sun, now a large red ball, slowly descended to the tops of the trees.

  Although Mathew had a reasonable idea of where the Nobody's Inn was located, his lack of familiarity with El­berton combined with the oncoming darkness became a problem. Still, running easily and chortling to himself about how Will and company might be faring at the mo­ment, he turned at the end of the third street. After several minutes he slowed to a walk and surveyed his surround­ings. Nothing looked familiar. A few more minutes of searching made it clear he was lost. The question was what to do about it. He rejected going back the way he'd come, because of the possibility of running into Will or his unsavory friends. Unlike Devondale, where the streets were laid out in a straightforward manner, Elberton's were much narrower and seemed to have more than their share of twists and turns. Without a landmark to guide him, Mathew decided one street was as good as the next. It stood to reason that he would soon figure out the proper direction, but that turned out not to be the case. Wide at first, the street he was on gradually got narrower and nar­rower, eventually coming to an end in a small courtyard. Frustrated, Mathew had to turn back.

  After fifteen minutes of making errors he began to rec­ognize a few of the shops he had passed on his way into town. He noticed that none of the windows contained any merchandise to look at, which was curious.

  How can anyone have a shop if there is nothing for people to buy?

  Then it dawned on him. The owners simply removed their goods each evening, locking them safely away, then put everything back out again in the morning. It seemed a wasteful thing to do, until Will Tavish and his friends came to mind.

  Spring was coming, but not yet. A chill breeze blew down the street, causing him to pull his cloak tighter. Ahead of him a horse plodded along, slowly pulling a flatbed wagon behind it. Mathew moved out of the way. Neither he nor the driver said anything to each other as they passed.