Capione was nestled in the foothills of the mountains. Fine old mansions surrounded by green forests could be seen scattered among the hillsides. The city itself was small and elegant, taking pride in its ancient buildings and carefully preserving them. The city of Capione was staid and quiet at night, while the harbor was boisterous and raucous. Visitors had their choice of entertainment.
Father Jacob’s yacht, Retribution, arrived in Capione early in the morning. Sir Ander piloted the yacht toward the harbor. He drove the yacht himself because he could not yet bear to find a replacement for Brother Barnaby, and Father Jacob was not permitted anywhere near wyverns. When he moored the yacht at the public docks, the sight of the black yacht with the gilt trim and the symbol of the Arcanum painted on the sides created some consternation among the inhabitants. The arrival of the Arcanum generally meant that someone was in serious trouble.
Sir Ander’s first act upon arrival was to visit a tavern and assure everyone that the church was not going to outlaw strong drink or force the taverns to close on the sabbath. He bought a round for the patrons, telling them that he and Father Jacob were here to take the waters. He gained much goodwill, drank a tankard of an excellent brown ale, and gleaned information, which he reported on his return to the yacht.
“No Freyan vessels, either merchants or naval, have been sighted in the Breath in recent days. Although, as the sailors pointed out to me, there are so many inlets and channels and coves along the coastline that a fleet of ships might escape observation.”
“As a privateer with a considerable bounty on his head, my brother would take care to stay well hidden,” said Father Jacob. “We will see what the morrow brings. My meeting with him is to be in the afternoon. Since we are supposed to be here to take the waters, shall we go to the springs?”
Sir Ander made a face. “You know I hate that stuff. It tastes like rotten eggs.”
“We can wash it down with ale.”
“You have a bargain.”
The next morning, they made their visit to the famous fountain in the center of Capione, drank the mineral water, and went to the tavern at the dockyard for a lunch of roast beef and the brown ale. After lunch, they returned to the yacht to wait.
The clocks were striking the hour when there came a knock on the door. Sir Ander answered, pistol in hand. He was startled to find a Trundler lad of about twelve.
“Where’s Papa Jake?” the lad inquired.
“I am here,” said Father Jacob, coming to the door.
“I am to say that you are to come with me,” said the lad. “And if you are Defender, I’m to say that you may come, too.”
“That’s good, because I was coming anyway,” said Sir Ander.
He was outfitted for the occasion with his broadsword, long knife, several throwing knives tucked in his boots, the dragon pistol, and a pocket pistol in his waistcoat.
“You are a walking armory,” Father Jacob observed.
“Because you are a walking target,” said Sir Ander.
He and Father Jacob accompanied the Trundler boy to a wherry tied up nearby. This wherry was operated by a man introduced by the boy as his da. Neither Da nor the wherry were in the cleanest condition. The boat had a broad beam and low gunwales, rather like a long raft. A single thin support mast and four mooring lines secured the balloon, and a small pivoting air screw propelled the boat.
Sir Ander gave the boy a coin, which the lad took, and then departed. They were left with Da, who said nothing for the entirety of the trip. In response to Sir Ander’s question about where they were bound, Da grunted once and spit over the side twice.
Da ferried them along the shoreline until he reached one of many coastal inlets that all looked alike: rocky crags and trees. Da steered the wherry into the inlet, taking several twists and turns. Trees lined the shore on either side. Sir Ander noted places where the branches had been recently snapped off or left dangling.
“Looks like a ship sailed through here,” Sir Ander pointed out. “Your brother is undoubtedly waiting for us in this godforsaken wilderness where no one will ever find our bodies.”
Father Jacob smiled. “A ship did pass through here, but it wasn’t a large ship. A heavy frigate such as privateers sail wouldn’t fit into this small inlet.”
“You’ve never told me much about your brother,” said Sir Ander. “Is he older, younger?”
“Alan is younger, two years my junior. He was sixteen when I left Freya. The last I saw him was twenty years ago, when he and his friend, Sir Henry Wallace, tried to kill me.”
“You never said why.”
“That is a long story. And unless I am mistaken, we have arrived at our destination.”
Da had steered the wherry around yet another bend in the inlet and they came within sight of a monstrosity of a gunboat. The name painted on a hull covered with metal plating was HMS Terrapin. The gunboat took up almost the entire inlet, its steel sides rubbing against the trees along the shoreline. Patches of sunlight dappled the steel panels that armored almost every inch of the boat. A few crewmen were visible on deck, sweating in the heat as they worked.
Sir Ander gave a low whistle. “Damn thing’s aptly named. It looks like a floating turtle!”
“Monsieur de Villeneuve told me when we were together at the abbey about a journeyman who had invented steel infused with magic that would withstand bullets. I believe we are looking at the result.”
“Stephano never mentioned that to me,” said Sir Ander.
“The mission was secret. Monsieur de Villeneuve was not supposed to have told me, but he was under the impression at the time that I was going to throw him into an oubliette. He was eager to confess his sins.”
Da maneuvered the wherry alongside the Terrapin. Sailors lowered a covered gangplank, one with side railings so that those boarding did not fall into the Breath. Sir Ander boarded first, followed by Father Jacob. They were met by a man wearing the uniform of a Freyan naval captain.
Alan Northrop was of medium height with wavy black hair, light brown eyes that were almost amber, dark eyelashes, and heavy brows. He had a strong jaw, prominent cheekbones, and a deeply tanned complexion. He stood with his hat beneath his arm.
“Welcome aboard. I am Sir Alan Northrop, Captain of His Majesty’s ship Terrapin,” he said with a bow.
“Sir Ander Martel of the Knight Protectors,” said Sir Ander, bowing stiffly in turn.
Captain Northrop noted the knight’s armaments. “You will not need your weapons, sir. Allow me to relieve you of them.”
“I’ll be damned if I will—” Sir Ander began heatedly.
“We are guests aboard this ship, Sir Ander,” said Father Jacob. “You will have no need for your weapons.”
Sir Ander eyed the captain. “Do you give me your word, sir, that Father Jacob will be allowed to depart freely and safely?”
“You have my word, sir,” said Captain Northrop. “Please give me your word that you will relinquish all your weapons, including the pocket gun in your waistcoat and the knives in your boots.”
Sir Ander handed over his weapons to a lieutenant as Captain Northrop watched closely. He took time to admire the dragon pistol.
“A fine-looking weapon, sir. I don’t suppose I could induce you to sell it to me?”
“Not for all the gold in the world, sir,” said Sir Ander.
Captain Northrop shrugged and turned to Father Jacob. “Do I call you ‘Brother,’ brother? That would be ironic, not to mention redundant.”
“You look well, Alan,” said Father Jacob.
“You look well yourself, Jacob,” said Alan, adding coolly, “More’s the pity.”
He smiled at Sir Ander, who was eyeing him grimly.
“Relax, Sir Knight. I am teasing. The quarrel between my brother and I is long past. But we can catch up on family gossip later. My friend has risked a great deal to speak with you, Jacob. He is in the cabin below. If you will come with me, I will take you to him. Don’t trip over that cable, brother.
It would be a shame if you broke your neck.”
Captain Northrop laughed. Sir Ander wasn’t amused. He stayed close to Father Jacob as they descended the stairs into a cramped, dark corridor barely big enough for the three of them. Captain Northrop knocked on a door.
“He’s here,” he called.
“Send him in,” said a voice.
“The meeting is private, Sir Ander,” Captain Northrop said, barring the knight’s way. “Not even I am invited.” He opened the door.
“Father Jacob,” said the man inside.
“Sir Henry,” said Father Jacob.
He entered and shut the door behind him.
27
Angered by what was seen as the increasing wealth and ambition of power-hungry priests, and suspecting them of secret allegiance to Rosia, our good king brought about the Reformation, establishing a church based on a true devotion to God. Most Freyans stood strong with their king and the new church. A few stubbornly clung to the old faith, most notably the Earl of Chester, who launched a bloody civil war. With his capture and execution, the rebellion fell apart and eventually ended.
—The Rise of the Church of Freya, Father Edmund Brannigan
Captain Northrop smiled at Sir Ander, who was squashed up against a bulkhead.
“If you will accept my hospitality, sir, I have a comfortable chair in my cabin and an excellent bottle of Estaran wine I will be glad to share.”
Sir Ander could hear muffled voices from inside the cabin where Father Jacob and the other man who had tried to kill him sat together.
“Or you can remain stubbornly hanging about in the corridor, Sir Ander,” Captain Northrop continued. “I warn you, their conversation might be a long one. I have given you my word as a gentleman that your charge will be safe. If you refuse, I will think you question my honor.”
He grinned when he said this, causing Sir Ander to very much question Captain Northrop’s honor. The knight reflected, however, that he might learn something from the captain that Father Jacob would find useful and he grudgingly agreed to accompany Captain Northrop.
Ducking his head as he walked to avoid bumping it on the low ceiling, Sir Ander picked his way through an assortment of tools, ropes, and cables that littered the deck. When they came to another small cabin at the end of the corridor, Captain Northrop stood aside to allow his guest to enter first.
“Leave the door open,” said Sir Ander, taking a seat.
Captain Northrop gave a good-natured, charming smile and offered Sir Ander a glass of wine. Sir Ander declined, preferring to have his wits about him. Captain Northrop poured a glass for himself. The constant sounds of banging and hammering came from various parts of the ship. Apparently the Terrapin was a work in progress.
“A very fine Estaran blend,” Captain Northrop said, holding the wine to the light. “I labor under the impression you don’t like me very much, Sir Ander.”
“I find it hard to like a man who tries to kill his own brother,” said Sir Ander.
“You have heard Jacob’s side of the story, no doubt.”
“Father Jacob has not told me anything beyond the fact that he fled Freya to avoid being persecuted for his faith,” said Sir Ander. “I had no idea he had a brother until we were investigating the attack on the destroyer Defiant and we discovered that you and your friend, Wallace, were behind it.”
“You bring up a painful memory, Sir Ander,” Captain Northrop said, wincing.
Sir Ander thought this an odd statement, considering that the captain and Wallace had succeeded in almost sinking the destroyer. He let it pass.
“Would you like to hear the family history?” Captain Northrop asked. “Come now, Sir Ander, admit it. You are curious.”
“I would prefer to hear more about this remarkable-looking gunboat,” said Sir Ander.
Captain Northrop laughed. “I’ll wager you would. The Terrapin belongs to Sir Henry. I am merely her captain, and so it would be ungentlemanly of me to gossip about her. To return to my brother, I will begin by saying our family was highly respected, well-to-do.”
Sir Ander had to admit he was curious to hear the story of how Father Jacob had come to flee his homeland, so he settled himself to listen.
“Our father owned a fleet of merchant vessels. My mother came from a family who owned a shipbuilding operation. The alliance was mutually beneficial to both families, though I believe my father married my mother for love. She was very beautiful. I take after her. Jacob favors our father.”
Captain Northrop drank his wine. Sir Ander’s attention was divided between listening to the captain’s story and trying to hear what was being said down the corridor. The two men were keeping their voices low, for he could hear nothing.
“My mother was an intensely devout follower of the Church of the Breath,” Captain Northrop continued. “This was during the time of the Reformation in Freya when there was tenuous peace between the Church of the Breath and the Freyan church. My mother was wont to attend mass on a daily basis. My father was not a religious man and saw no harm in his wife practicing the old faith. He would not have felt the same about his children, but he was gone from home a good deal of the time, for he captained one of his own ships, and so he did not know that Jacob was indoctrinated.
“He accompanied my mother to mass morning, noon, and night, and he sang in the choir. When the priests found out that he was gifted in magic, a savant, they were thrilled. They sank their claws into him—”
“You will please speak more respectfully of the clergy, sir,” Sir Ander interrupted.
Captain Northrop shrugged. “As you will, sir. The priests ran a school for young crafters and they invited Jacob to attend, even offering to pay his tuition. Jacob excelled, of course. He loved the study of magic, and admired the priests, to the point where he talked of becoming a priest. If my father had been home more, he would have put a stop to such nonsense. My mother hid it from him, however, and by the time he found out, it was too late.”
Captain Northrop poured himself another glass of wine.
“As for me, I was never in any danger of becoming a priest. I was a born sailor. My father took me on my first voyage when I was six, and I loved it. The mists of the Breath in the early morning, the exhilarating feel of riding the wind. I knew then where my heart lay.”
“As did your brother,” said Sir Ander.
Captain Northrop contemplated the wine, turning the glass in his hand, staring into the red depths. “Jacob was father’s favorite. Odd, isn’t it? I was the son who took after him, yet father was always talking of Jacob—the son who was a savant, who would do great things when he joined the business. And so when Jacob announced that he was going to Rosia to become a priest, our father was appalled. He refused to believe it, at first.
“When Jacob assured him he was serious, Father flew into a rage. He threatened; my mother wept; the servants gave notice. The row lasted for weeks. My father couldn’t stand to look at Jacob, and left on another voyage. While he was gone, my mother fell ill, diagnosed with a cancerous tumor in her belly. The healers could do nothing for her, and after a long, painful illness, she died a horrible death.”
Captain Northrop lifted the wineglass to his lips. “So much for God’s mercy, eh, Sir Ander? After all the time and prayer our mother had devoted to Him, He made her suffer like that. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”
Sir Ander thought of how he had wrestled with his own faith after Julian’s terrible death. He thought, too, of the loss of Brother Barnaby. “We are not meant to understand. We are meant to have faith.”
“That’s what Jacob said. I told him faith was just an excuse, God taking the easy way out.”
“If you’re expecting to shock me, sir, you will be disappointed,” Sir Ander said with a slight smile. “I said the same to myself at one time in my life. I found my faith again.”
“I never had any faith to lose,” said Captain Northrop wryly. “During this period, our good king Osward issued the order that shut down the
monasteries. The crown seized their holdings. An edict proclaimed that anyone who followed the teachings of the Church of the Breath was a traitor to Freya and subject to death.
“Many of Jacob’s priest friends fled to Rosia. They pleaded with Jacob to come with them, saying he wouldn’t be safe in Freya, but he refused. This was during the time our mother was ill, and he would not leave her. I suppose I have to give him credit for that. When mother was on her deathbed, Jacob wrote to father, telling him to come home. Our father didn’t return in time, which left Jacob to handle the funeral. He followed Mother’s wishes, which she whispered to him as she lay dying. The funeral was conducted in secret, at midnight, by a Rosian priest. Servants talked. The neighbors discovered we were hiding this priest in the house. Our father arrived at our home the same time as the soldiers.
“Jacob helped the priest escape, but he did not have time to flee himself. The soldiers arrested Jacob and our father. Jacob had concealed me in one of the priest-holes or they would have arrested me, as well. I was sixteen and alone in the house. The servants had all fled. I was trying to think of something to do, when Jacob appeared. He’d used his wonderful savant magic to escape. He said he’d tried to convince our father to come with him, but our father refused, saying he would rather face death than be deemed a traitor to his country. Jacob had come home to bid me good-bye. He was going to Rosia.
“I flew at him in a rage. Jacob was always good with his fists, and I ended up on my ass before I knew what hit me. I told him he couldn’t leave our father to face this alone. Jacob said he was the criminal. Our father would be safe once he was gone. I didn’t believe him. I vowed to Jacob that I would hunt him down like the traitor he was and kill him. Five years later, when my friend, Sir Henry, heard that Jacob had sneaked back into the country on some secret mission for the church, we found him. I kept my vow then—or tried to. I was not a particularly good shot at the time.”
Captain Northrop saw the expression on Sir Ander’s face and laughed. “Are you sure you won’t have some of this excellent wine?”
Storm Riders Page 39