by Greg Keyes
“Yes. They’re right in assuming my weapon doesn’t have that kind of range. They’ve got us in their wind shadow, so we can’t move. They’ll stay there and pound us until we sink.”
“Then why did you even set up the arbalest?”
“In case they were stupid. They aren’t.”
While Cazio watched, a pair of the enemy war engines fired, nearly at the same time. Two flaming balls leapt skyward, leaving tails of thick black smoke.
“I see what you mean about it getting worse,” Cazio said.
One of the balls plunged harmlessly into the sea, but the other hit squarely in the middle deck, blossoming in a tulip of flame. One of Malconio’s sailors caught fire, too, and fell screaming and thrashing to the deck as his comrades tried to smother the fire with a wet canvas.
Cazio gripped Caspator’s hilt until his knuckles went white. Malconio was right—he would never even get a chance to kill one of them. He’d never felt so helpless in his life.
He glanced at his brother, intending to ask him if there was anything he could do, but noticed Malconio wasn’t watching the other ship, but was staring out across the sea. And he was smiling.
“What?” Cazio asked.
“Look there,” he said. “At the water.”
Cazio followed his gaze but didn’t see anything remarkable.
Malconio put his hand on the steersman’s shoulder. “Prepare to come about,” he said. “You see where?”
“Aye, I see it,” the fellow said. “It’ll be close.”
“What’s going on?” Cazio asked.
“Watch their sails,” he replied.
Cazio tried, but it was difficult, as about that time another volley of flaming pots came hurtling toward them. One struck the mainsail.
“Put that out!” Malconio hollered. “We’re about to need it.”
At that moment, the sails of the other ship went suddenly slack.
“Come about, now!” Malconio thundered.
Sailors leapt to their tasks, pulling yards. The boom swung around and the still-flaming sail filled with a faint puff of air. It hardly seemed enough to move the ship, but then the men all cheered.
“What happened?” Cazio asked.
“Netuno took their wind and sent us one from another direction,” Malconio said.
“It’s not much of a wind,” Cazio observed.
“No, which makes it perfect for us. We can run straight before it, and we’ll start out faster than her.”
“I thought she was faster,” Cazio said.
“Aye, in full wind. But we’ll make the speed faster, because we’re smaller. By the time they turn and start again, we’ll have two leagues on them.”
Once again, his brother was right. Even though they barely seemed to be moving, the big ship wasn’t moving at all. The arbalests kept up the rain of fire, however. Cazio joined the crew putting out the fires as they slowly, painfully tacked out of range. When the arbalest rounds started at last falling short, another cheer went up.
They ran straight with the wind, then—no more tacking—and with a sluggishness Cazio found maddening they began to outpace their pursuer.
But by dusk the big ship was gaining again.
The sounds of bombardment waxed and then gradually waned away. Since her outburst, Austra had huddled on her cot, unspeaking.
“They’re cheering,” Anne noticed. “It must be good news.”
Austra nodded vaguely but still wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“I’ll go see what’s happening,” Anne said. “Do you want to come along?”
Austra shook her head and closed her eyes. “It’s too much,” she said.
Anne regarded the younger girl for a moment, wishing there were something she could say. “You were right before,” she said finally.
“About what?”
“Back when I tried to run away. When I thought I could dress as a man and make my own way in the world. When I wanted adventure. You told me that I was being stupid, that I would starve or be killed or kidnapped within a nineday.”
“Oh, right,” Austra said. “I did say that.”
“At the time I only agreed to stay because you asked me to, because I worried about what would happen to you if I left. Now I know you were right about everything. I didn’t know anything at all about how the world works. I barely do now. But if there is one thing I do know, it’s that I don’t want any more adventure. I want to be back in Eslen. I want the worst thing that could happen to me to be a scolding from Fastia or mother. And I want you there with me.”
“I’m glad you finally admit that I can be right about something,” Austra said.
“A lot of people have died for me,” Anne said. “The sisters at the coven. Sir Neil. I’m afraid to go abovedecks, because I’m afraid to find out who else. I don’t want anyone else to die for me, Austra. I’m sick of this whole thing.”
“Well, why not try telling them that?” Austra said. “The next time those men catch up with us, just tell them you don’t want to play anymore, and that you’ll be good, and please leave us alone.”
Anne smiled, thinking Austra was joking and the mood was finally starting to lighten. But then she saw her friend’s face.
“It doesn’t matter what you’re sick of,” Austra said. “It’s all going to happen anyway.”
Anne felt her heart slacken. “Please, Austra—”
“You still aren’t going to tell me what’s going on.”
Anne felt herself near tears, and even nearer to begging. “I think if I tell you anything, it will only make things worse for you. I’m afraid it will get you killed.”
“I’m going to get killed anyway,” Austra said. “Can’t you feel it? Don’t you know?”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Nothing.”
“Austra—”
“I’m tired now.”
Austra rolled over so her back was to Anne.
Anne watched, helpless, her eyes wet. How could she tell Austra about her visions? How could she burden her best friend with trying to decide whether Anne had gone mad, or whether she was so important to the world that if she did not become queen it would end? How could she tell anyone about the man in the woods?
She didn’t believe it herself, after the visions had faded.
Anyway, it would make breaking her promise harder to do, and Austra would try to come with her. She hadn’t lied just now when she told Austra that she’d been right about running away the first time. But things were different now. Now Austra had Cazio to protect her. This time she wasn’t running from her duty, she was running toward it, and if the Faiths were so insistent that she must be queen, they could bloody well protect her until she was.
She wouldn’t have her friends dying for her anymore.
Because Austra was right. They wouldn’t stop. They would never stop. And though it would hurt Austra when she left again, Austra would live, and she would be protected.
Resolved to that, she went back up abovedecks to see whom else she had killed, and to find out whether any of them would live through the night.
She found the ship still following, and getting closer. As night fell, clouds rolled in, and the dark that followed was complete. Malconio put the ship through a series of turns as the wind quickened. There was no cheering now, because the only thing their enemies might have to follow was sound.
Anne returned to her cabin to try and sleep, but was awakened a few bells later by an explosion. Throwing on her dressing gown, she ran back up on the deck, fearing the ship had somehow found them.
But the ship hadn’t found them—a storm had.
CHAPTER TEN
CANALS
LEOFF AWOKE TO A splitting headache and a small voice in his ear.
“Get up sir,” it said. “Please don’t be dead.”
The voice was nearly drowned out by a background cacophony of shouting and stamping feet. With an effort, Leoff opened his eyes. At first he saw only
a blur, which, as it sharpened, became Mery’s small face.
“What’s happening?” he groaned.
“You aren’t dead!” she exclaimed.
“No,” he agreed, “though I might be soon.” He felt the side of his head, and his fingers came away sticky with blood. That didn’t seem like a good sign.
“Hurry,” Mery urged, “before the soldiers get here.” He realized she was tugging at his hand.
He tried to rise, but a wave of dizziness went through him.
“No, don’t stand up,” she said. “Just follow me.”
He crawled on hands and knees, following Mery through the pandemonium. He figured that he must have been unconscious for only a few seconds.
Mery vanished behind a tapestry and he followed, wondering what he was doing and why.
When he got behind the tapestry, he saw the blue fringe of Mery’s dress as it vanished through a narrow slit in the wall. The slit went for about a kingsyard and then opened into a larger, torch-lit corridor.
“Wait,” Mery cautioned, waving him back. “Not yet.”
He waited, his head feeling huge, swollen with pain.
“Now, quickly.”
She stood and darted across the hall, to an open doorway there. He followed, making it somewhat shakily to his feet, and saw, down the hall, several men in the king’s colors standing in front of a much larger door, brandishing swords and spears at those in the ballroom. They seemed far to busy to notice him.
“Good,” Mery said. “I don’t think they saw us.”
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Come on.”
His head felt a little better, but he sincerely hoped Mery knew what she was doing, because after a few moments in the darkened maze of the manse he knew he would never find his way back. Mery never hesitated, however, taking turn after turn, leading him through huge rooms and tiny compartments. It was as if the entire building were a sort of magic chest, with ever smaller and cleverer boxes nested within. The din of the ballroom was well behind them.
He concluded by touch that the cut on his head wasn’t serious. He only hoped the bone hadn’t broken.
Finally, Leoff felt fresh air. The room was utterly dark, but Mery led him to what felt like a shaft that was angling down and away from him.
“In there,” she said. “We have to go through there.”
“What is it?”
“This is the kitchen,” she explained. “They dump the garbage in here.”
“Maybe we should just wait here until things calm down,” Leoff said.
“The bad men will find us,” she said. “We have to get outside.”
“The bad men may be outside, too,” he said.
“Yes, but there are secret ways out there,” she said. “Don’t you want to go back to Eslen?”
“Wait,” he sighed. He was trying to sort it out. The “bad men” were the queen’s men. Those in the corridor wore the same colors as the knight—Fail de Liery—to whom he had escorted the queen only two nights before.
Someone had tried to kill the queen, and two nights later her men were attacking Ambria Gramme’s ball.
Had Gramme planned the assassination?
Saints, what had he gotten himself into?
“Yes,” he told her. “I think we had better get back there.” Otherwise, he was going to be implicated in this whole affair, and he suspected that would lead to a loss of more than simple employment.
But the queen might find out anyway. Running would only make him look guilty.
Still, there was also Mery to consider, wasn’t there?
Hoping he would fit, he pulled himself down the shaft, which reeked of pork grease, rotten vegetables, and less wholesome things.
The pile he landed on was worse. He was glad it was too dark to see exactly what it was.
Another night lost in Newland. He was really beginning to hate this place.
He caught Mery when she came out, sparing her the same messy stop he’d found.
“Which way now?” he asked.
“We’ll go get a boat on the canal.”
“I think the bad men came on the canal,” Leoff said. “I think there will be a lot of them there.”
“Not that canal,” she said, “there’s another one. Come on. This way.”
They mazed through dark gardens of hedges trimmed fantastic, around still marble basins that glimmed faintly in the moonlight. The grass crunched with frost, and two owls were making ghostly conversation. Not too far away, he could hear men’s voices, but they were growing fainter.
He stopped suddenly.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Gilmer. My friend Gilmer was in there.”
“The little man? No, he left when you started playing the hammarharp.”
“Oh. Good.” Or maybe not. How long had the soldiers been outside? They might have caught him as he left.
But there was nothing he could do about it right now, not with Mery. She was probably in more danger than he was.
“How did you know to run, Mery?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. “It was like you had the whole thing planned out.”
“Yes,” she said, after a silence.
“Why?”
“I always have a way planned out.”
“But why?”
“Mother says they may come to kill me one day.”
“Did she say why?”
“No. Only that they might come one day, the king’s men, and kill me and my brother. So I figured out ways to run and places to hide. It’s how I found the music room.”
“You’re a very clever girl, Mery.”
“Are you going to marry my mother?” she asked.
“What?” For a moment his dizziness returned. “Did she say something like that?”
“No,” Mery replied.
“Then why do you ask?”
“Because I like you.”
He took her hand. “I like you, too, Mery. Come on, let’s find someplace warm.”
They found the canal easily enough, and several small narrowboats. They were approaching them when Mery suddenly grabbed him by the arm.
“Shh,” she said.
There were voices in the darkness, and straining, Leoff made out several indistinct figures near the canal. He and Mery crouched behind a bush.
“They captured the lady Gramme and her son,” one of the men said in a husky baritone.
“That’s of no concern,” a second man said. Something about that voice sent a chill through Leoff. It wasn’t the voice itself, which was perfectly normal, tenor, cultured. But just as any note played on a lute had numerous smaller tones hidden within it, there was something hidden in that voice—something somehow wrong.
“How can you say that?” the baritone asked. “Our plans are ruined.”
“Hardly. I’m amazed that Muriele discovered this, much less acted on the information, but once our spies reported them coming, I did my best to encourage them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some of my men met them at the docks with bow and arrow and killed one or two, then fled into the darkness. After that, the queen’s men didn’t ask questions—they stormed through the front door, where the guards naturally reacted to them before they understood who they were fighting. What was probably meant to be a peaceful interrogation ended up in bloodshed. Do you know how many were killed?”
“I’m not sure, my lord—but more than a few.”
“I feel foolish for not having planted the evidence of this meeting myself,” the tenor said. “Still, it’s all worked out quite well.”
“I really don’t see how.”
“He’s right,” a third voice said. This one sounded familiar to Leoff, but he couldn’t place it. “If one of us had been found there, things might be different. As it is, Muriele’s men will find little of substance—little to justify this attack. It will seem as if they burst into an innocent gathering and began slaughtering landwaerden.”
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“Indeed,” the tenor agreed. “Even the few loyal members of the Comven won’t be able to support this action. I believe this moves us well ahead of our schedule.”
“I urge caution, my lord,” the third man said. “Give the kingdom time to absorb this before you move.”
“No, I don’t think so,” the second man said. “The time to strike is now.”
“You mean tonight?” the baritone asked incredulously.
“Not tonight. But soon. Go to the camp. Tell them to be ready to cross the water.”
“Yes, my lord.”
One of the figures moved to the narrowboats, and soon he was rowing away on the canal.
“I’ll take my leave now, as well,” the familiar voice said. “But heed my advice—moving too quickly could be a mistake.”
“No, this is the perfect time.”
“There are many who still sympathize with the queen, and many more who will not care for you, milord. The situation does favor you, but there might be ways to sweeten it.”
“Well, your advice is always welcome,” the tenor said.
“After tonight, the landwaerden will be incensed,” the familiar voice went on. “Through Gramme, you can be certain of their support. The nobility, however, will not care much about a few dead waerds. In fact, this might actually draw a few of them back to the queen.”
“She’s worried them enough by forming her own Lierish guard.”
“Yes. But what if she began truncating all lines of succession other than Charles and Anne?”
“You mean by killing Gramme and her bastards?”
“Precisely.”
“But we need Gramme, I think, and her son could prove useful. He is, after all, William’s.”
“Yes. The assassinations of Gramme and the boy might be seen as bungled. But the girl is of no use to us.”
“Mery? No, I suppose she isn’t. And she’s probably in the queen’s custody right now. I suppose it couldn’t hurt matters. Can you arrange this?”
“It wouldn’t be hard,” the familiar voice said.
“Before tomorrow?”
“Are you in that much of a hurry?”
“Three days. No more.”
“That’s sufficient time, I suppose,” the familiar voice sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”