A Handful of Men: The Complete Series

by Dave Duncan

  The girl flushed and dropped her eyes. “It was a game, but you needn’t make fun of me!”

  “You mean that boat isn’t really the famous Ark Noble and that isn’t Warth Redoubt I see ahead of me?”

  The onlookers guffawed. The castle ahead was Krasnegar, and the name scrawled in red lead on the dory’s bow was STROMDANSR.

  “Of course not!” The girl had turned even redder. “Warth Redoubt was much bigger!”

  “How many head?” asked the boy, sniffing the air.

  “Twelve,” Efflio said. “Your names? Real names?”

  “I am Princess Kadie of Krasnegar. He’s Gath, my brother.”

  About to lose his temper, Efflio caught the mate’s eye, which was twinkling like a beacon.

  “You should’ov piped them aboard, Skipper!”

  “Or else I should throw them back!”

  The girl tossed her head again. Oh, she was a vixen, that one! And she was obviously the brains of the pair. The boy was being very quiet, gazing blankly at the rigging, but he did not seem scared. He was probably just dull-witted, for her make-believe had left him doing all the rowing. Once she had perfected her techniques on her dumb brother, the minx would have males dancing to her tune for the rest of her life.

  The boy completed his study of the lines and turned his steady stare on the captain. “How close to the wind will she sail?” he asked, and waited solemnly for an answer.

  Efflio told him, taking a harder look. There was a surprising brightness in those big gray eyes—odd-colored eyes for a jotunn, quite a dark gray. When jotnar had gray eyes, they were a pale, foggy shade. And the kid’s hair stuck up in golden spikes all over his head, which wasn’t usual, either. So he was not purebred jotunn, and the girl’s claim that he was her brother might be believable. Mixed bloods tended to favor one parent over the other. She might have meant “half brother” anyway.

  She had breathtaking green eyes. How could Efflio have missed those? He had never seen such green eyes before in his life. So she was not pure imp, and she might well have jotunn blood in her, because her ridiculously inappropriate dress was a skimpy thing that left her arms and shoulders bare, yet she seemed unaware of the spray and the whistling wind. Efflio himself was swathed like a bear, and the gnomes had been huddled under blankets in the galley for days. The boy had bare arms and bare legs. He obviously felt the cold no more than did Krushbark, whose shirt was open to the waist.

  Who were these two orphans of the sea? Again the captain felt uncomfortable prickles of superstition. If those were real emeralds in the crown-thing on her head, then he ought to throw the livestock overboard and head back to the Impire at once. He could live out his days in luxury on what he would get for that. He could buy off the crew with one pearl apiece from the necklace and send the kids home somehow.

  But if there were occult forces at work, then the children might be something much closer to the mythical Allena and Thraine than they looked. And as for her being a princess—and the boy presumably a prince… well, who could say what was possible in this forgotten, eldritch outpost?

  Then he felt a sudden shift in the motion of the ship as Sea Beauty entered the bay. The far end was closed by a splatter of small islands, forming one of the finest harbors Efflio had ever seen—certainly the finest he had ever forgotten. The great rock stood high on one side, its nearer face plastered with town. The landward shore bore only a few cottages and haystacks.

  So it was too late to take the treasure and throw the horses overboard, even if he ever would have done such a thing. He shouted to the mate to shorten sail and laid course for the quay.

  4

  Sorcery or not, Krasnegar made a good first impression. It had a prosperous, contented air about it that Efflio could not quite identify. There were no trading vessels moored at the docks, only fishing smacks and a couple of small whalers. Lobster pots in stacks, nets drying over racks, blubber being rendered in cauldrons over fires… Women sat in rows and gossiped as they mended nets, while others cleaned fish and tossed a steady rain of them into the salt barrels. Men similarly wrangled while repairing oars and harpoons. It all seemed very healthy and normal.

  It reminded him somehow of Impport, on Krul’s Bay, where he had grown up, although Impport was much flatter. He had a daughter in Impport. He probably had a daughter in Impport. He hadn’t been back there in twenty years.

  He would never want to live in a town built on such a slope—not with his chest—but he could see little wrong with the place otherwise. He was beginning to remember it now. It had a well-organized, impish feel to it, and yet the people held their heads high and did not peer over their shoulders before they spoke. That might be the jotunn influence. Most of the people he could see at the moment were blond, but of course jotnar would gravitate to the docks, and the imps to the landlubber businesses within the town.

  Krushbark hailed a man ashore, who shouted willingness; a line curled through the air. The man caught it expertly, looped it around a bollard, and threw it back. Then he went to the next bollard and the process was repeated. Hands began hauling the cable, as the helper waved cheerfully and went on about his business. In impish ports, he’d have demanded money for that trifling assistance. Sea Beauty nudged the dock, then nestled coyly in against it.

  Without even waiting for the plank to be run out, a man vaulted over the side and came striding aft with the air of a predator thirsty for blood. Efflio took a step nearer the pin rack; Krushbark dropped the rope he had been coiling and moved quickly to the captain’s side. But it was not the captain the newcomer was after—he came to a halt in front of the children. He put his fists on his hips and glared down at them.

  The boy smiled shyly. The girl raised her chin and tried to project poise.

  For a moment there was silence. Efflio wondered what other misfits he would find in Krasnegar—this man looked for all the world like a faun, but fauns rarely roamed far from the jungles of Sysanasso, far away in the Summer Seas. He was also much larger than any faun Efflio had ever seen, larger than most imps, even. Nevertheless, his face was a deep-tanned faun shade, his hair a brown tangle, and his nose looked as if it had been stepped on in his childhood. Faun.

  His jaw was too big, though, especially now, being stuck out like that. Part jotunn, maybe?

  Fauns were very good with animals. If he is a faun, Efflio thought, then one gets you twenty if he’s not a stockman, come to get those stinking brutes out of my hold. The newcomer wore ragged work clothes—and yes, his boots had been through a stable recently.

  But that raised the problem of how this exiled faun could have known Sea Beauty was bringing the livestock. Again the uncanny tingled the captain’s scalp. Much more of this and he would start jumping at shadows…

  He had seen the dory on deck, and the children, of course.

  “Hello, Papa,” the girl said.

  “And just what do you think you are doing with those?” the newcomer demanded.

  “Which those. Papa?” the girl inquired sweetly.

  “You know which those, and don’t call me that!”

  “But it’s much more ladylike than ‘daddy’ or ‘Pop’ or —“

  The hostler growled dangerously. “What are you doing with your mother’s jewelry?”

  Efflio relaxed—he had still been secretly wondering if he had missed a good bet for instant wealth, but if the jewelry belonged to the wife of a man who wore such despicable stable rags, then they were certainly not real emeralds and pearls. Even fakes of such good quality would be worth a fair amount, though.

  The girl was trying to seem unruffled. “She lets me borrow them when I dress up. I was being Allena the Fair, and Gath —“

  “She never said you could wear them out in the town!” her father roared. “Or in a boat!”

  “She never said I couldn’t!” the girl protested, but she was starting to wilt before his anger.

  “And look what you’ve done to your dress!”

  “It’s my old o
ne. It’s too small now! Oh, Daddy… Please don’t be angry!” She sniffled, and an artful tear ran down her cheek. Her brother was watching in attentive silence, apparently unconcerned, or letting her do the negotiations.

  “Angry?” the faun said. “I’m speechless!”

  Perhaps that had been what the child intended, but now she tried another tack, with a dramatic gesture at the audience. “Daddy, these pirates captured us! They forced us to come aboard their ship and —“

  “Kadie!” the man thundered. But he turned and made a quick scan of the onlookers. He picked out Efflio at once, although most would have guessed one of the jotnar. “Cap’n? Your pardon! My name’s Rap.” He held out a hand. “I have to thank you for rescuing these brats, I fear. And the skiff, of course.”

  Efflio introduced himself. “My pleasure. Master Rap. No harm done, and we’ll waive transportation fees. Where do I go to lodge a claim for salvage?”

  He had spoken mainly to amuse his own listening officers, but the stablehand did not reply with a blank stare as the captain had expected. He apparently caught on at once. A small smile puckered a corner of the big faun mouth, and the gray eyes twinkled.

  “Imperial maritime law doesn’t apply here, Cap’n. In any case, she had a crew aboard, surely? And she was underway? I think you’d have trouble getting her declared a derelict.”

  “That might be,” Efflio admitted regretfully. It had been worth a try, though.

  The faun laughed. “Indeed, my daughter’s countersuit for piracy might take precedence—but I suspect the local admiralty court will award prize money of a few beers, at the least. Where exactly were they?”

  “About three leagues along the coast.”

  “We were not!” the girl shouted.

  “Hold your tongue, Kadie. I am very grateful to you, Cap’n, and of course their mother will be also.”

  “We were half a league out, Father,” the boy said quietly. “The tide would have brought us back.”

  The hostler hesitated, then shrugged. “All the same, it was very foolish. Next time take a sailboat.”

  Efflio felt rather nettled that the boy’s word was obviously being accepted over his, even if it was the truth.

  “Sorry, Father. I won’t do it again.”

  “Good. We’ll discuss it later. Now, Cap’n, we’ve been starved for news lately. What word of the imperor? Is the old rogue still chopping off heads with wild abandon?”

  Efflio had never been a loud-mouthed patriot, but he felt himself bristle at the man’s impudence. Then he remembered that he had strayed beyond the bounds of the impire. This disrespectful cowboy owed allegiance to the king of Krasnegar, up there in his castle, not to the imperor. Even so, his master ought to beat him for insulting his betters.

  “The Gods continue to shower blessings upon his Imperial Majesty.”

  The faun chuckled. “They wouldn’t dare not! Old Foxy would summon Them to his court and frighten Them to death!” He spoke as if he and Emshandar IV were old friends. Insolent, blasphemous peon!

  “His arms have won several glorious victories of late,” Efflio said stiffly. “The legions have struck a notable blow against the goblins at Pondague. They have retaken the pass and are building a wall across it, so the green vermin won’t cause any more trouble with their raids.”

  The faun looked distressed. “You haven’t heard the last of the goblins, Cap’n.”

  But of course Krasnegar itself must be on the borders of goblin country. Efflio scanned the dock quickly, wondering if he had overlooked any greenish faces. “Do they ever bother you here?” he asked uneasily.

  “No. They need us for trade. We have loads of furs waiting to head south, if you’re interested. A lot of them were brought in by goblins. Death Bird himself drops around once in a while. He has a taste for jotunn beer.”

  Efflio shuddered. “The monster himself? That murdering, torturing, green horror?”

  The faun’s gray eyes went strangely cold. “The same. The imps started the fight, you know, Cap’n… Never mind. What else is happening out there in the real world?”

  For a stockman, he had a curious interest in politics.

  “His Highness the prince imperial engaged the caliph in battle at a place called Bone Pass, and made great slaughter.”

  “Did he so!” The faun looked pleased. “Good for Shandie! I still think of him as just a kid, younger than Gath there. But he’s only six or seven years younger than me…” The gray eyes glazed, as if their owner was calculating.

  “The caliph was wounded. Very likely he has been knifed by his own supporters since.”

  The faun’s attention returned at once. “No. No, I doubt that. Azak’s probably another one the Impire hasn’t heard the last of… But the queen will be eager to hear all your news. I’m sure she will invite you to dine one evening while you are here.” Then a horse whinnied sadly, and the hostler reacted. “Someone is reminding me that you have cargo for me!”

  “For the palace. Master Rap.”

  “They’re still my problem.” The man released another of his faint smiles. “I’m sure you want rid of them as soon as possible, and I can catch the tide on the causeway if we unload right away. Then I’ll be happy to stand you and your crew all the ale you can drink. Our beer has quite a reputation. Ah… excuse me, there’s some good help going by right now!”

  He leaned over the rail and bellowed, “Krath!” A jotunn walking along the dock road spun around, peering to locate the hail. The stockman beckoned. “Krath! Here!” He ran to the plank.

  Efflio’s impish curiosity was burning like a rash. What sort of stablehand discussed politics and was familiar with maritime law? For that matter, what sort of stablehand was so assertive and threw out royal dinner invitations? And were those jewels real or not?

  He turned to the two children. “What’s a faun doing in these parts?” he demanded.

  The boy looked surprised.

  The girl sniggered. “Doing?” she said. “Nothing much. He hangs around the palace… Looks after the royal horses, and so on.”

  “She’s teasing you. Captain,” the boy said solemnly. “He’s the king.”

  5

  So Captain Efflio had saved the lives of a prince and princess. Well, maybe he hadn’t, but he had tried, and that turned out to be a very fortunate occurrence indeed.

  Because that disreputable stockman really was the king, and he really was a faun, or part faun, and all fauns had great empathy for animals, and when this one saw the condition of the rack-boned, starving beasts in Sea Beauty’s hold, then he lost his temper.

  He was also part jotunn.

  He displayed an astonishing fluency in nautical language. Soon he had lifted Captain Efflio bodily and was busily shaking him like a floor mat, and when Krushbark started to object, he was blocked by the king’s friend Krath, who was even bigger, while a large number of enormous golden-haired locals heard the king’s fury and came sauntering up the plank carrying harpoons and gutting knives and whatever else they had been working with, and it seemed Sea Beauty had been invaded by the Krasnegarian militia, and her captain was about to be taken apart, limb by limb, organ by organ.

  Then Princess Kadie burst into tears. The madness faded from the gray eyes. The faun-jotunn put the captain down, and turned to pick up the girl and hug her, and comfort her. The boy was pale, also, but saying nothing.

  The locals smirked and began drifting away again, regretful that the excitement was over without a drop spilled.

  “Get them unloaded, Krath,” the king said hoarsely, still cuddling the girl to him, his voice muffled by her hair. “All right, honey, all right! Daddy’s not mad anymore.”

  “Did you ever kill a man. Father?” the boy asked, as if inquiring about horseracing, or model ship building.

  His Majesty looked down at him coldly. “Yes, Gath. I did. Several. I once killed a thane with an ax.” He peered around his daughter’s head and looked meanly at the captain. “He deserved it.”

>   He obviously thought Efflio did, too.

  When all the horses had been assembled on the dock, shivering and complaining, the king came striding aft again, to where the master huddled within his frightened officers, trying to edge behind the sheltering bulk of Krushbark.

  His Majesty was still in a poor humor.

  “I think eleven of them will make it,” he snapped. “I’ll deliver the receipt before you leave. And if you ever bring us stock again, Cap’n, they had better be in better condition than those!” He glared.

  “It was a miscalculation, sire. The fodder —“

  “It certainly was! But you did pick up my two brats, and for that I am grateful. I said I would shout for the beer, and I’m a man of my word. Just tell them I said to put it on my slate.”

  “That’s very generous of your Majesty,” Efflio muttered, appalled to think what free beer would do to his crew.

  “Don’t worry about a watch. No one will touch your ship here.” A hint of a smile softened the faun’s anger. “For your jotnar I recommend the Beached Whale. Our locals will be happy to provide whatever sport they need, and there’s a good bone-setter across the street. Imps may prefer the Southern Dream—but take your own dice. I notice you have some gnomes aboard. That’s unusual hereabouts.”

  Gnomes? “Oh, yes, gnomes.” He’d forgotten.

  “I don’t suppose they’ll fancy beer?”

  “I have no idea!” Efflio said. Never in his life had he spared a thought for gnomes’ drinking habits.

  “They lack the capacity,” the king said knowledgeably. “Tell them I’ll send down a couple of bottles of wine and a tasty bag of offal. If you can spare them for a day or two after you’ve cleaned up, I could use their help in the palace cellars.” He scowled again. “Rats. And remember what I said about horses!”

  He turned on his heel and strode away.

  6

  Sea Beauty needed several days to refit before she could load another cargo. Most of the crew needed several days to recover from the king’s hospitality. Efflio passed the time in arranging a return hire: furs, narwhal ivory, and salted fish. Obviously the Krasnegar run could be profitable, which explained some of the trouble he had experienced obtaining information about it in Shaldokan.