The Hand of the Storm

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The Hand of the Storm Page 14

by Iain Lindsay


  “The Princess Eliset, daughter to the Empress-Protector, has gone missing.” Rathine said urgently. “Not two moons ago, her airship was last seen approaching the Ladder Mountains, never to be heard from again.”

  Tremaine started to wince. This was sounding like a fool’s errand already…

  “And now, brother, listen to this…” She reached to a bell pull by the side of her chair. There was a distant jangle of bells, and a young Protectorate woman with dark hair and a green robe appeared at the doorway, her eyes shadowed as she looked at the Captain.

  “Bella, will you be so good to get Father Kef for me?” Rathine said.

  “Yes, mistress.” A nod of recognition at the captain. “Master Joselyn,”

  “Bella,” Tremaine murmured. As she turned, he saw the curling, pink scar that crawled its way from the handmaiden’s brow to cheek, earned from their long-ago flight from his ancestral lands.

  “This had better be cast-iron, sister, because I am already not liking the sound of this…” the pirate flexed his hands on the table.

  “Hush, just listen to what my counsellor has to say.” Rathine raised her head to greet the tall and thin man who replaced Bella. He wore simple desert clothes, loose-fitting grey linen shirt and trousers, with a belt of woven, multi-colored cloth. His face was long, his hair a greying fuzz, and through the meat of his ears had been placed bone stretchers of varying sizes. He was also Nhkari.

  “Lady Rathine,” he nodded, his voice like crackling coals as his almond eyes turned to regard the captain steadily.

  “Kef, can you tell my brother what you relayed to me not a few days ago? About the Blue Princes?” Rathine said. Tremaine grimaced at the name of the famous gang of Mardukki smugglers.

  The thin man looked at his hands for a moment, before clearing his throat. “The Blue Princes have been employed to smuggle someone very important south to Marduk. Someone important enough for the Blue Princes to throw every bit of coin they have in the effort.”

  “Okay…” Tremaine started to object, but Father Kef’s voice cut him off.

  “The wandering Nhkari are often used as trail guides and scouts in the south,” he continued. “Two moons ago, before your Princess was stolen, some of my people were hired to take the Blue Princes themselves to a meeting on the far Eastern edge of the deserts. There they camped for three days, and then, on the third night, they were met by a black ship made of black, living wood, with tattered sails.”

  No…. Tremaine’s eyes widened.

  “A contingent of the Voltapuri met with the Blue Princes, and money was exchanged, and by morning the black ship had gone, and the Blue Princes returned to Marduk.”

  “The Voltapuri!” Tremaine snapped his head back in alarm, tangling his hair in the overhead hangings, growling as he jumped to his feet. “That bunch of monsters? That would be insane.”

  Everyone knew of the Voltapuri, or known more simply just as the Volt – but they had never pressed this far westwards before, never directly threatened the Protectorate. They were a cadre of cultists who had appeared in blackened boats on the Eastern coasts a decade ago, their creed spreading through the disregarded wildlands as ceaselessly as did their gruesome attacks. They raided at night, decimating entire villages with savage cruelty and leaving the limbs of those who opposed them as gory warnings to any who would come after them. The Protectorate hadn’t managed to roust them from their nests, and, as they were still only a far frontier threat, the Protectorate had been content to ignore them to focus on their ever-ongoing internal politics and trade wars of the World Islands.

  The Volt were said to be half-man, half-something else. Born from far across the horizon where the sun never reached. They were frenzied and ferocious, they could command wild dogs and bats. They brought with them plague and disease. They were scare stories for the comfortable children in the well-fortified cities of Ausbridge, Iza, or Falcetti.

  “Joselyn, don’t you see?” Rathine said. “The Blue Princes have been hired by the Volt to kidnap the Empress’s only daughter. We have a window of opportunity to retrieve the Princess from the Blue Princes, return her to her mother – and have our family honor restored!”

  That patrol boat had been searching for someone when they stopped us, Tremaine thought’s jittered. I had thought they were searching for Tal, but clearly they had thought that we were Blue Prince smugglers…

  “No way. The Volt are lunatics.” Tremaine shook his head violently.

  “That’s all just rubbish and scare tactics. The Volt are probably just like any other type of pirate…” Rathine hissed back. “Looking to expand their territory, to send a threat to the Protectorate…”

  “Well they’ve succeeded.” Tremaine snapped. “And no, the Volt aren’t like any other pirate, believe me. Pirates do have some honor, Rathine.” I was taught that a pirate doesn’t kill unless they have to, Tremaine remembered the words he had learned at the ropes of his own pirate mentor, when someone had taken a sponsor’s knife across the arm for a younger him. ‘A pirate cares about two things: profit and crew, and not always in that order. A load of killing is just hard work, doesn’t even turn a profit, and gets you killed in the end. So, unless the crew deserve it, or need it, cut the purses before you cut the throats.’

  “Please listen to me, Joselyn. You’re good at what you do, much to my disgrace. The Storm is good at what it does. Retrieve the Princess Eliset from the Blue Princes before she gets given to the Volt, and present her to the Empress-Protector. She will return the Tremaine name to its former glory for certain.” Rathine’s stare were fierce, like fathers had been.

  “Are we talking about the same Empress-Protector here?” Tremaine frowned. Every part of Rathine’s plan was crazy. Why should he do anything for the Protectorate?

  “And there is a reward,” his sister sighed miserably.

  A Princess’s Ransom… “Oh?”

  Rathine glared at him, before shaking her head in disgust. “Yes, I believe a figure of seventy thousand Ducats has been talked about.”

  Seventy thousand! Joselyn Tremaine couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. Never mind restoring the family name, with that kind of money they could retire to some little island, raise the walls high and live like lords with or without the Protectorate’s blessing, Tremaine thought. With maybe only a little bit of pirating to keep the coffers full…

  “Where do we start?” He said with a glint in his eye, as behind him the royal heimarian hunting eagle of House Tremaine looked tattered and old.

  Where they started, however, was not where Tremaine or his sister expected. They started with the snarls of Rathine’s desert dogs in the middle of the night, and the shouts of her house staff as four pirates demanded to be let in, with at least one of them being more than a little inebriated.

  “Get us the Captain Tremaine now!” Lura shouted, holding one of the staff by the throat to the wall of the courtyard, as beside her Odestin waved his sword at the sky.

  “For the Storm, Captain! Blood and Vengeance!” He roared lustily.

  Rushing to the upstairs landing in her heavy nightgown with a shawl wrapped around her and small flint-and-powder pistol in hand, Rathine found her brother already dragging himself out of bed, holding his sabre. “Brother dear, are these those honorable friends of yours?” She said.

  21. Some Manners

  “Joselyn!” The lady in the nightgown shouted, waving that little flint-and-powder pistol of hers around in a way that was clearly making the crew of the Storm nervous. “What about the Princess? The Blue Princes?” She was saying.

  Talin stood in the courtyard next to Lura, Sevesti, and Odestin, with an ever-expanding crowd of tense-looking house staff evaporating around them. The lady stood in one of the doorways, as the Captain was already walking away from her, buckling on his sword belt.

  “It’s my Quartermaster. I’m not doing anything without Gulbrand at my side. I couldn’t do what you want me to do without Gulbrand at my side…” he
added in a mutter, before stopping to pull himself up short. “Guns. Crossbows.” He turned on his heel. “Sister, you’ve always known how to look after yourself. What weapons have you got?”

  Twin spots of color had appeared on the woman’s cheek, and Talin thought that she – the Captain called her sister – was going to refuse him, before she shook her head and shrugged her shawl closer around her neck. “Bella? Father Kef? See that my brother and his people are armed, will you?”

  “The Manners?” Croaked a voice in the shadows behind her, a voice that sounded familiar to Talin for some reason, but the speaker was not revealed as the Lady Rathine nodded.

  “What the hell happened?” Tremaine shouted, and Talin felt the companies’ eyes falling on him.

  “Burandin poisoned him with poppy.” Talin found himself saying, repeating the story for the crowd.

  “Two hundred and fifty ducats, that swine.” The Captain spat.

  “At least we’re wanted, eh Cap’n?” Odestin pulled a face, already sharpening his sword.

  “I doubt that the Protectorate would pay twenty pennies for you, Blackbeard,” Sevesti stroked his chin.

  “Why you fat old…”

  “Stop it! Time to fight when we’re back on the Storm. Lura, my boat?” Tremaine asked the Rigger.

  “I’ve sorted it. She’ll be guarded until morning, but I doubt for much longer…” She said, and Talin saw her hand self-consciously return to her empty left hip.

  “We won’t need longer,” Tremaine said, as two of Rathine’s servants appeared bearing weapons. Sevesti took a heavy crossbow and bolts, (he already had his own blade), Lura took an extra, far heavier scimitar and practiced a few experimental strikes with it beside her finer, much thinner tyl blade.

  “Not for me, Cap,” Odestin held up his still-notched sword in one hand, and in the other a mailed gauntlet with metal studs. “Got me fightin’ irons already,” he grinned, tottering to his feet. He still stank of beer.

  “I guess I’ll get the Manners, then,” Tremaine said, seizing a long weapon that was almost as large as his sword. It looked like a sort of portable cannon, with a metal barrel as thick as a man’s arm with a flaring mouth. A heavy, curving wooden stock at one end, and a wooden brace under the barrel so that he could carry it like a crossbow. Into his hands was pressed a small pouch of black powder, and a larger pouch that chinked with the sound of shot bearings.

  “Talin, you should take something,” Lura was at his side, but his eyes were fixed on the man who had handed the large hand-cannon to the Captain.

  He was Nhkari, like me, Talin thought, suddenly feeling self-conscious of his skin. He worked for the Captain’s sister, but he didn’t wear manacles or chains, or even have scars, the young man studied him. A free Nhkari, like mother wanted me to be.

  The older man stepped back from the pile of weapons, raised his head to look at their crowd in the lamplight, and paused as his eyes found Talin, his expression unreadable.

  “Here.” Lura took from the pile the only piece of armour that had been brought, a circle of wooden boards crossed with iron braces, with a larger rondel of metal in the center, and a strap on the reverse. “It’s a buckler. You hold it like this, see?” She slipped it onto Talin’s off fist, and the diameter stretched halfway down his forearm, and halfway in front. “Use it to bat away an enemies’ attacks.” The tyl said, miming the action. “Catch their blow with the buckler, then strike with your long knife.” The tyl’s voice sounded worried.

  “Is he ready for this?” Sevesti asked.

  “He has to be.” Tremaine murmured. “Tal?”

  Talin swallowed, tearing his eyes away from the older Nhkari to nod at the Captain. “Yes sir, Gulbrand saved my life at the Reach. If I can, I’d do the same.” He found himself saying.

  “The Reach…?” the older Nhkari murmured quietly to himself, as if thinking aloud. No one but Talin seemed to hear or pay him any heed.

  “Good man,” Tremaine said to Talin, before he nodded to the door. “Let’s go get our man back. Sevesti, Odestin? You know the drill.” He said, as the two humans flanked him, walking slightly ahead as behind their party, the Lady Rathine massaged her temples.

  Talin stepped in behind Lura, turning just before they left the Lady’s courtyard to see that the older Nhkari’s eyes were fixed on him in an intense, questioning stare.

  In the way of the richer establishments of Marduk, Burandin’s enclosure was similar to the Lady Rathine’s, a high-walled courtyard connected to a two-story, white bricked house – and in the way of pirates, the crew of the Storm chose not to use the most obvious route in.

  A small cart on rickety wheels creaked its way on hobbled wheels up the narrow street, pushed by a portly man in rags. It was before morning, but the most disreputable city never really slept, and the lazy guard outside Burandin’s side door into the courtyard kept on smoking from his little clay pipe. The ragged man stopped near a pile of refuse, prodded it with his foot, turned over some bits of discarded pallet, grumbled, before carrying on. The cart he was pushing was covered with a moldy bit of waxed linen that might once have been white, or it might once have been anything.

  “Master Burandin got any salvage?” the man called in a screechy voice to the guard, continuing to push the cart.

  “Clear off. We take our goods to the middens – you can sort through it there with all the other scavengers,” the guard waved his pipe at the trash picker in disgust. There was a smell of old fish-heads from the man, and dirt.

  “Ah don’t be like that, sir. Kindness costs nothing…” the rag-picker paused the cart in front of the man as he wheezed and coughed.

  “I said, clear off!” The guard kicked the cart angrily, which responded by losing its old bit of sail cloth, under which was a very angry-looking man with a very big blunderbuss.

  “Do you think I need to show this man some Manners, Chef?” The Captain sat up, and levelled the hand-held cannon at the guard’s chest.

  “Shhh!” Odestin said very loudly to the Nhkari youth beside him. The pair stood outside the double doors at the front of Burandin’s house, with its tiny wooden porch inside which hung a lantern. There were narrow glassed windows on either side of the door, but Talin could only see darkness inside.

  “Hmm-ta-dum-di-dum…” Odestin hummed something out of tune as he stepped up to the doors and knocked.

  “Who is it?” A light came on in the window beside the porch.

  “Can we have our Quartermaster back, pleeease?” Odestin jangled a very large coin purse in one hand.

  Muttered voices on the other side, the sound of feet, before the door opened a crack, and Talin recognized the merchant’s voice this time.

  “Slide it on the floor, pirate” Burandin’s voice was harsh and thick. “Any tricks and I’ll slit his throat, you understand?”

  “You’d have a job getting through his scales…” Odestin sniggered, wavering slightly on his feet, but did put the coin purse on the floor and kick it past the door, which closed immediately after.

  “Odestin – we were supposed to get inside first…” Talin said in alarm.

  “Shhh young man, I’ve been doing this sort of thing for a long time. 1…2…and…”

  “What is the meaning of this!” The door was flung open by a furious Burandin, flanked by some very large guards, and in his hand he held a pile of pebbles. It had taken Talin ages to gather those.

  “Yaaas!” Odestin roared, grinning as he punched the merchant in the face, at the same time as there was a very loud bang from the rear of the building.

  “Right you swobs! On the floor or I’ll kill every last one of ya!” Tremaine shouted, bounding from the ruins of the smoking door to stand on the fountain with the Manners lowered, Sevesti covering him from the courtyard door with his heavy crossbow.

  The guards and servants who had run towards the sound of the small explosion now corrected their direction, with roughly half dropping to the floor on seeing the angry man with the very big
gun, and the other half running back in the direction of the house.

  “Sevesti – move!” Tremaine shouted, and the Chef ran across the courtyard to the nearest of the open doors, as Tremaine stood. “I would drop your weapons and then leave, if I were you lot. Or maybe I’ll change my mind and fill you all full of lead anyway…” The Captain snarled, followed by hurried clunks as servants and guards dropped spears, swords, and crossbows and ran for the destroyed courtyard door.

  “Thank god they didn’t realize it’s not primed,” Tremaine muttered as he joined Sevesti, just as screams erupted from inside…

  “Dammit! He was only supposed to be a diversion!” The Captain was hurriedly stuffing powder into the small shot compartment of the Manners as the Chef went in.

  “You have that! And you!” Odestin was a demon. A mad man. A danger to everyone around him including himself, Talin thought.

  Burandin staggered backwards, hand holding his now bloody nose as the blackbeard followed, diving into the ranks of the crossbowmen before they could get a chance to raise their weapons.

  “And you!” Odestin backhanded one of them with his mailed glove, despite the fact that the man wore a helmet. He then struck out at a second on the other side of him with his sword, missing, but forcing the guard to give ground. A turn and a stamp in his heavy boots on the knee of a third, causing a guttural scream of pain.

  But there were still more guards on either side of the square hallway, and more arriving at the top of the stairs from the landing above.

  A growl, as the guard nearest to Talin, dressed in desert linens but with a hastily-thrown leather jacket on, threw his crossbow at him to instead draw a blade. Tal batted at the heavy object with his buckler, feeling the shock run up his arms before it clattered to the floor.

  Swish! The guard’s sword sang as it left its scabbard, and now he was advancing on the youth, sword low as he stabbed forward.

 

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