by Paul Collins
‘I must start my squad report, Latsar,’ she said. ‘Did you hit the dragon?’
‘I hit the soft bit under its wing, but it was not very soft,’ said Latsar. ‘The bolt bounced off.’
‘I hit it right in the mouth, but it didn’t notice.’
‘Will you interview Pandas?’
‘No, I already know what he hit.’
DANTAR
It took an hour to put out the smouldering spots in the rigging of the Invincible. All the while, the marines were down on the deck, snuffing fires started by burning tar dripping from the ropes. Dantar and Marko were ordered to stay aloft, to douse any new fires that broke out amid the sails.
‘So it’s true what the old sailors say about war,’ said Dantar, as they sat on a yardarm, looking back over the fleet.
‘What’s that?’ asked Marko.
‘That it’s months of being bored, followed by a few moments of total terror.’
‘Not always. A sea battle against other humans can last for hours.’
‘Is that worse than a dragon, Marko?’
‘Oh aye. It’s all blood, bodies, fires, screams, swords clanging and arrows whizzing past – except for this one.’
Marko pulled his tunic down to show a scar on his shoulder. Dantar put a hand over his eyes and took a deep breath.
‘I was lucky, I fell overboard and drifted away,’
Marko continued.
‘You call that lucky?’
‘Oh aye. Everyone was on deck, fighting enemy boarders. Nobody was left below to douse smokers, and a fire started in the oil store. The ship exploded like the Intrepid.’
From below came three toots from a whistle.
‘There’s the order to climb down,’ said Marko.
‘The riggers and carpenters can repair the mess up here.’
Dantar looked up at the mainmast. The last ten feet were missing.
‘Marko, what happened to the crow’s nest?’
‘Same thing that happened to the lookout in the crow’s nest.’
Dantar had begun the voyage with no useful skills. His father insisted that his two children come with him on the Invincible, but the captain insisted that the warship would carry nobody who did not work or fight, so Dantar was made a cabin boy.
The trip had got off to a good start when his sister had been seasick for the first three days, yet Dantar had got his sea legs straight away. He had learned that cabin boys did much more than clean cabins, carry meals to the officers, wash their plates, and fire a crossbow occasionally.
Dantar also had to catch rats, stoke the kitchen fires, boil water, wash the officers’ clothes, go on watch, scrub the deck, and splice rope.
For a boy brought up in the royal palace as the son of the emperor’s battle warlock, it was an exciting new world, rather than hard, tedious work. The other children of nobles would not survive long without servants to look after them and their parents to pay for everything, but Dantar now had a trade and felt as if he could run away from his sheltered life back in the capital, Haldan, and live a new life.
It was also his job to stop the ship catching fire. Sparks sometimes escaped the cooking hearths, so he had to patrol the galley for smokers, a brass bound pail sloshing by his side.
‘You’ve got the most important job on the ship,’ had been what old Gyan, the earth-magic wizard, had said when Dantar came aboard.
‘Truly?’ Dantar had gasped. ‘Then why don’t they give it to someone important?’
‘The penalty’s death for not doing it properly.
The Invincible’s made of wood and has barrels of lamp oil aboard for the flame-throwers and fire pots. We take smoker patrol very seriously.’
The threat of death did add some glamour to the job, but today it was hard, sweaty work. A huge number of smoking fragments had fallen after the dragon’s breath blazed through the upper rigging. Soon Dantar’s trouser legs were drenched, and his hands were red-raw from tossing the pail over the side on a rope, then hauling it up full of seawater. Eventually the midshipman determined that the smokers were all doused, and Dantar was sent down to the galley.
Being short and thin, Dantar could get into narrow spaces where stray sparks might smoulder, grow, and flare up into a deadly blaze. Being fast helped Dantar dodge the cook’s fists. Cook hated everybody, from the admiral right down to the cabin boys. He was a good cook, but not even he could make salt pork, baked biscuit and flatbread taste any better than pretty bad. Everyone complained about the food, so his temper was worst at mealtimes. He took it out on the closest person to hand – Dantar.
Retaliation was not a good idea. A month earlier, Dantar had switched the salt and the sugar, so that the officers got mugs of salty tea. The cook accused Dantar. Dantar accused the cook. There was no proof that either of them had done it, so the marshal-at-arms sentenced the cook to five lashes and Dantar to a caning.
Dantar had slept on his stomach for a week afterwards, but it earned him a reputation for being tough. He had managed not to cry, although he had screamed a lot.
Cook was in a particularly bad mood after having to do smoker patrol by himself while Dantar was busy in the rigging. Dantar watched as he prepared the tray with the tea for the officers. After a suspicious glance at Dantar, Cook took a pinch of sugar from the jar and tasted it.
‘Wipe that grin off your face, daft bilge rat!’
Dantar made his face go blank, and ducked under Cook’s backhand. He made for the door while Cook decided whether or not to chase him. Chasing Dantar would have meant being late with the tea, which was a bad idea. The officers were sure to be edgy after the one-sided battle with the dragon.
‘Oi there, boy, are ye blind?’ Cook shouted, then flipped a burning coal from the hearth. It landed near a barrel of olive oil. ‘If that blows, it’ll sink the whole bleedin’ ship.’
That was true. Olive oil burned well enough to be used in flamethrowers.
‘I’ll tell the marshal you dropped that coal there,’ said Dantar.
‘It’s your word against mine again. We’d both get hanged.’
If we live long enough to face the marshal’s court, thought Dantar, recalling what happened to the Intrepid. Thinking quickly, he dipped the douse cloth in his pail, balled it up and threw it. It passed between the cook’s legs and hit the glowing coal squarely. Unable to lure Dantar close enough to smack, Cook picked up the tea tray and stamped off.
‘Smoker!’ someone shouted from the oil store.
Dantar dashed down the passageway and into the storeroom as a sailor hurried out with a load of fire pots on his shoulder. He saw a tendril of smoke where a cluster of speaking tubes came through the wall. This was part of a network of pipes that connected important parts of the ship, allowing the captain to give orders without leaving the quarterdeck.
Someone very stupid had been smoking in the storeroom. The idiot had knocked his pipe out against a leather and beeswax tube, and the embers had burned right through it. Dantar dabbed out the embers with his douse cloth. A broken speaking tube during a battle could get the ship sunk, he thought. I’m on the ship and I can’t swim.
Dantar hurried out to the rigging lockers, and returned with a canvas patch and a pot of tar. He was about to wrap the hole in the tube when he heard muffled voices coming from it. Only senior officers used the speaking tubes, so even hearing an indistinct voice from one made him feel important.
I’m Dantar of the House of Barronfeld, master spy, he thought. No secret is safe from me.
He glanced over his shoulder, making sure he was alone, then pressed his ear to the hole.
‘. . . sure he can be trusted?’
‘. . . not your concern!’ snapped a vaguely familiar but muffled voice, one clearly used to command. ‘Just be ready . . .’
The conversation continued in tight whispers, but Dantar was not able to make out very much.
‘. . . give the traitor his reward . . .’ said the commanding voice.
Suddenly it was no longer a fantas
y game. There was a real traitor. Who? Which side was the traitor on?
Which side am I meant to be on? Dantar wondered.
Heavy footsteps thudded along the passageway outside. Dantar jerked up, quickly wound the patch onto the tube and slopped some tar on top as Cook stuck his mastiff-shaped head in the doorway.
‘Get a move on, boy! You’re supposed to be on smoker patrol.’
‘A smoker burned through this pipe –’
‘Then call the carpenter to fix it! Your job is to douse the smokers, that’s all.’
For the rest of his shift Dantar could think of nothing but the voices in the tube. Who had been speaking? Who was the traitor? Was the traitor trying to sink the ship? How long did it take to learn to swim?
VELZA
Once Pandas had stopped screaming, a court of the marshal-at-arms was convened in the master cabin under the quarterdeck. This was the largest cabin on the ship, and was meant to impress and intimidate anyone entering. There were gilt work carvings around the leadlight windows, and brightly patterned Varlinese rugs on the floor. The curtains of the side windows were drawn, and the officers’ dining table had been moved so the light from the stern windows was in the eyes of the accused.
Nine senior officers sat behind this table, all dressed in blue knee coats with gold buttons. Facing them, standing, were Velza, Latsar and Pandas. Pandas had injured himself in battle, and people sometimes did this to avoid the fighting. It was technically desertion, and desertion was punishable by hanging.
Pandas is not yet shaving, and he could stand to lose a few pounds, thought the very worried Velza as they entered the master cabin. He doesn’t look heroic, and not looking heroic is bad when charged with desertion. Must have Latsar teach him to look heroic.
‘Before we begin, I must announce that due to the dragon destroying the flagship, the Invincible now leads the fleet,’ said the marshal-at-arms. ‘Vice Admiral Dalzico is now Admiral Dalzico, and this crew must set a good example for the other ships. If that means hanging a few cowards from the yardarm, I’ll do it. Squad Captain Velza, please read your report on the dragon’s attack.’
Velza did as ordered, and added that Pandas was very clumsy with weapons.
‘Thus I told him to check the bowstring. He held the front of the crossbow between his feet to seat the string properly.’
‘How did he manage to shoot himself in the foot when the bolt was pointed at the deck between his feet?’ asked the marshal-at-arms.
‘When he grasped the stock to raise it, he squeezed the release lever by accident,’ said Velza.
‘Or on purpose. Do you have anything else to say about Shapecaster Pandas?’
‘Pandas is only fifteen, Sir, but he is not a coward. I’d stake my reputation on it.’
‘But this was his first time in action, and against a dragon. You may stand aside, Squad Captain Velza. Shapecaster Latsar, step forward.’
‘Sir,’ said Latsar smartly.
Several senior officers smiled and nodded. Latsar was seventeen, but he looked older and moved with the confident swagger of a warrior. When the ship had sailed, several girls had stood on the dock, throwing flowers, calling his name and crying.
Pandas looks like he should be shelving books in some library, but Latsar could be a handsome young prince,thought Velza. The court will believe whatever Latsar says. He’s all muscles, bravado and windswept hair. He inspires confidence . . .
Velza snapped her thoughts back to the court.
‘Shapecaster Latsar, did the accused deliberately shoot himself ?’ asked the marshal-at-arms.
‘No, Sir.’
‘No? Did you see him do it?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘Then why do you say he’s innocent?’
‘Nobody wishing to flee from an approaching dragon would deliberately pin himself to the deck, in the line of fire. It had to be an accident.’
Will they accept that? thought Velza, her face burning with embarrassment. Will they suspect that I briefed Latsar to say that?
The marshal raised his eyebrows, then nodded. They were thick, bushy eyebrows, so when he moved them they caught people’s attention. He wrote on the paper in front of him, taking his time, to make Pandas squirm, and finally folded his hands on the table.
‘Shapecaster Pandas, step forward to hear the verdict of this court.’
Velza and Latsar took Pandas by the arms and stepped him forward. Velza felt him trembling with terror.
‘Officers of my court, you have heard the testimonies of the accused and those who witnessed the incident. Those who vote guilty, declare yourselves.’
Four officers held their fists out with their thumbs down.
‘Those who vote innocent, declare yourselves.’
The other four officers raised their thumbs.
‘It appears that I have the casting vote,’ said the marshal. ‘I suppose nobody in his right mind would pin himself down if he intended to flee. I, Marshal-at-Arms Florantas d’Civaros, raise my humb for innocence, but –’
Pandas’s legs buckled with relief and he dragged Velza down as he fell. Latsar helped them back up. The marshal-at-arms frowned and drummed his fingers on the table as he waited.
‘To continue: it is my opinion that Shapecaster Pandas displayed gross incompetence handling his crossbow, and that cannot be allowed on a warship. Shapecaster Pandas, you will load and discharge an armoury crossbow fifty times before you are permitted to return to your bunk. For every misload you will be given one stroke of the cane on your backside by the sergeant of irregulars.’
Leaning heavily on a wooden crutch, Pandas followed the marshal and the officers of the court out of the cabin and onto the mid-deck. For a moment Velza was left alone with Latsar. Taking him by the arm, she leaned so close that her lips brushed his ear and whispered, ‘Well done.’
‘Your plan,’ he replied with a slow wink.
Did he mean that, or was he just being polite? Velza wondered as they walked out onto the mid-deck. Do boys like him like strong girls like me or brainless tavern wenches? I suppose I’ll never find out, not while I command him.
They joined Pandas, who was waiting to serve his sentence. The officers were gathered near the mast, chatting among themselves while the armourer and sergeant of irregulars were fetched.
‘Can’t this be postponed?’ muttered Pandas.
‘I’m in agony, and my foot is bleeding through the bandages.’
‘You escaped death by a single vote,’ hissed Velza between clenched teeth. ‘Don’t complain.’
‘We shouldn’t be here, anyway. There’s no real reason to go to war.’
‘The emperor ordered it,’ said Latsar. ‘Savarian wizards are trying to join the four magics back together.’
‘We don’t know that,’ said Pandas.
‘Spies reported it,’ said Velza.
‘Who are these spies, anyway?’ said Pandas.
‘Spies have to remain secret,’ said Velza.
‘So there’s no real proof that the Savarians are practising forbidden magics?’ asked Pandas.
That question borders on treason, thought Velza, who remained silent.
‘Technically, no,’ said Latsar after a moment.
‘So we’re off to war for no good reason, and being led by an incompetent nobleman against an enemy that wiped out the first fleet that the emperor sent,’ said Pandas.
‘Technically, yes,’ replied Latsar.
‘Saying that about the admiral can get you hanged!’ protested Velza.
‘His family owes my family money, I can say what I like about him,’ said Pandas, who then added, ‘Sir.’
The armourer arrived with a crossbow and a bag of wooden practice bolts, followed by the sergeant of irregulars with a cane. Sergeant Haldigar had the burly build and shaven head of an executioner, yet he also had a definite sense of humour. Before any flogging or caning he removed his white tunic to display his muscles to whoever was to be punished, and made a point of s
miling. He never smiled at any other time.
This ensured that his victims were thoroughly terrified even before the first blow fell.
Pandas removed his cloak. Velza and Latsar stood back to watch as he slowly, carefully, loaded the first practice bolt. There was a crisp snap as he shot the bolt over the side of the ship.
‘Good work,’ said Velza softly. ‘You saved him.’
‘I just spoke the facts as you wanted them spoken,’ replied Latsar.
‘Without the words coming from your mouth, he would be dangling from a yardarm by now.’
‘Surely not, Sir.’
‘Surely so, Latsar. I know how the minds of the marshal and his officers work. They had to hear the crucial words from you. They think that because I am a girl, I would let mercy cloud my judgement.’
‘I’m sure a merciful thought has never entered your mind, Sir.’
‘Why thank you, Latsar. Do you really mean that?’
‘Certainly, Sir.’
Most of the crew is watching, thought Velza. Should do some training, set a good example.
‘We will practise fire attacks while we wait,’ she decided. ‘Fetch the practice balls.’
‘Sir!’ said Latsar, saluting.
DANTAR
When Dantar’s shift finally ended in the late afternoon, he was no longer the same cabin boy he had been that morning. He had heard secret, important things. People could be murdered for knowing what they were not meant to know. Should I tell someone? he wondered as he made his way to the mid-deck, keeping out of people’s way. He was not really sure who the speakers had been. The speakers did not know about him, so that kept him safe.
Dantar finally sat down near Blind Gyan, the earth wizard. He was sitting alone, stroking a sword’s blade and chanting in some arcane language. Gyan worked earth-magic strength into the metal of swords, so he was popular. Nobody wanted their blade to snap during a battle.
Gyan’s a good man, he’s safe to ask for advice, thought Dantar, yet still he hesitated. Nearby, someone was firing a crossbow. After several crisp snaps of the bowstring, Dantar heard the thud of a misload – followed by the smack of a cane on trousers and a yelp of pain.