The Larion Senators

by Rob Scott; Jay Gordon

  Between then, they got the Morning Star into position and as she caught the northerly wind – the real wind – she glided towards the inlet with ease. Content with both heading and speed, Ford handed the wheel to Pel and turned to Brexan.

  ‘Time to deal with Marrin,’ he said soberly.

  *

  Marrin lay unconscious in the captain’s cabin, breathing in shallow gasps. The spider-beetle’s venom had polluted his blood. No one knew when it had burrowed inside his ear canal – it might have been in there for days, ever since the tan-bak killed Sera and Tubbs – but the poison had travelled too far. Gilmour watched the patient and tried to make sure Marrin’s vital systems continued to function, though he had no idea what he would do were one to shut down.

  The others searched the ship for more spider-beetles, but if there were more of the insect hunters on board, they were well hidden.

  Now Pel, Garec, Brexan and Kellin emerged on deck; no one wanted to miss Ford navigating the Welstar River.

  When they passed the trawler, the Malakasian fishermen barely gave the graceful brig-sloop a second glance. Brexan said, ‘It does look like Steven’s cloaking spell is still working.’

  ‘And it might save our lives.’ Captain Ford agreed. ‘It’s as if they see us but don’t realise they’re seeing us.’

  ‘Look, that man – the captain maybe – he’s looking straight through us.’

  ‘Let’s hope it works on the whole city.’

  The brig-sloop came around the final point, hugging the shore, towards a rocky, windswept jetty, brushed green with a narrow strip of pine forest. Beyond, the Welstar River spread out before them, at least five times as wide as the Medera River in Orindale and looking more like a great lake.

  No one spoke at first; they all worried that the slightest sound would bring the full attention of the Malakasian capital down on their little ship.

  ‘Well, there it is,’ Captain Ford said at last, ‘a veritable highway of bad news for us.’

  ‘You can do it,’ Brexan said, full of admiration for his skill that morning.

  ‘Hold your breath,’ he warned, ‘here we go.’

  Gilmour’s estimation of Malakasian strength looked to be quite accurate. They could see several patrol boats, flanked by two heavily armoured schooners that were plying the deeper water between the city and a strip of sand on the east bank near the jetty. Two barges passed off the Morning Star’s bow, one headed north towards a big galleon moored near the main wharf and another tacking south towards the naval schooners and customs boats.

  ‘Well, that certainly cuts off any escape route upriver,’ Ford murmured.

  ‘But they don’t seem to see us,’ Brexan said.

  ‘Or if they do, maybe they’re mistaking us for a fishing boat, one of the locals working the shallows. There was a whole fleet of them down there this morning.’

  ‘As big as we are?’

  ‘Steven’s your friend, you tell me: is he strong enough to make us look like a fishing boat? I, for one, hope so.’

  ‘What about when we get downriver? And look out for those barges!’

  ‘Brexan, would you just let me steer the ship? I’ve been doing this for a long time; I’m not going to ram a barge.’ He focused his gaze north and, despite all that had happened, stifled a laugh.

  Brexan said, ‘It looked like you were heading straight into that one – this is frightening enough without you showing off!’

  ‘Showing off?’ He scowled. ‘We can’t be more than half an aven from certain death, and you accuse me of showing off?’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Well, what?’

  ‘Well, how often do you have attractive young women here watching your every move?’ she said teasingly, easing the tension.

  ‘All the rutting time,’ he shot back, ‘and let me remind you that with your Seron-crooked smile, you may not be the most attractive visitor this quarterdeck has ever seen.’ He altered their heading slightly, bearing away from the schooners.

  ‘Oh, really? You think so?’

  ‘Oh, really, yes,’ he grinned, ‘our Tubbs attracted all sorts of fine-looking women, I can assure you!’

  ‘Tubbs?’ Brexan burst out laughing, then covered her face when she noticed Garec and Kellin, both deadly serious, looking at her. She caught her breath and asked, ‘So what about north of us? Why aren’t there more boats down there?’

  ‘I don’t—’ He broke off mid-sentence and stared.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I think it’s the reason our Malakasian friends don’t have additional patrols working the stretch of water from the wharf to the centre of the river.’ He pointed.

  ‘I don’t see any … Oh.’

  The shipmates instinctively moved together as they spotted the three massive frigates emerging like ghost ships over the horizon, dwarfing their escorts, a little fleet of cutters and schooners. There was no mistaking the frigates, which had obviously come through the Northeast Channel and were now making way – with haste, it appeared – towards the Pellia waterfront.

  ‘That’s him,’ Captain Ford said. ‘The downriver patrols have gone out with the harbourmaster. I’ll bet it’s not every day ships like that come in, let alone three at a time.’

  Brexan was beaming. ‘Then we made it. We did it. We’re here ahead of him. Granted, it may only be by a few avens, but we did it.’ She hugged him, briefly but with genuine affection.

  Ford gave her a half-hearted embrace in return.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, puzzled.

  ‘Now we need Steven.’

  PELLIA

  Jacrys bunched the blankets beneath his chin and watched as the sun rose over Pellia Harbour and a massive frigate made her way slowly towards a deep-water pier not far from the spy’s waterfront safe house. Two others remained moored on the inlet, and a convoy of flat-bottomed barges were waiting to transfer passengers and cargo ashore. Captain Thadrake, still in uniform, dozed in a chair near the smouldering fire.

  ‘Thadrake!’ Jacrys wheezed, coughing a constellation of crimson droplets onto the bedding.

  ‘Sir?’ Thadrake roused himself, adjusting his tunic as he said, ‘Sorry, sir; I must have drifted off.’

  ‘Of course you drifted off, Captain. It’s not yet dawn and all of Malakasia is sleeping.’

  ‘What can I get you, sir? Some cheese? Or there’s a bit of fruit— Oh, no, that’s right; you eat only bread and tecan for breakfast. I’ll run down and fetch us a fresh loaf and a couple of warm flagons. I’ll need a bit of copper, though. I spent a bit too much on last night’s dinner.’

  He was halfway to the door when Jacrys found the strength to call him back. ‘None of that, Captain, but come here, if you please,’ he asked.

  Thadrake dragged his chair over beside the cot Jacrys had chosen as his deathbed. ‘What is it, sir?’

  ‘Those ships, the frigates, how long have they been here?’

  ‘They arrived yesterday.’ He sliced a piece of cheese from the remains of the block standing on the little table and nibbled at one corner, then pointed. ‘Those two there have been offloading what looks to be a division of soldiers, I don’t know which corps, but I can find out when I go down for breakfast. They appear to be en route for Welstar Palace, just like the other vessels that have been running upriver since we arrived, sir. These frigates are too big to get to the military encampment so they’ve commandeered anything that floats – every available barge, schooner, even rowboats. I can’t think why Prince Malagon would need another division at the palace, but they’re here.’

  ‘It seems he’s still alive then,’ Jacrys muttered.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Thadrake paused. ‘There were rumours all over Orindale that he had died, or disappeared, maybe been taken prisoner, but from the looks of these curious troop movements the prince is very much alive and well and most likely back home.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Jacrys said, holding a bloodstained cloth near his mouth.

  ‘Anyway,�
�� Thadrake went on, ‘this frigate coming in must be hauling something other than just troops, because she’s about to tie up – maybe, if she’s come up from the south, from Praga, maybe it’s General Hollis. Who knows? And if they’re from the east, Falkan or Rona, well, it could be anyone. I didn’t hear anything about Prince Malagon calling General Oaklen home, but I’ve been out of touch.’

  Jacrys ignored him, continuing to stare out the window as the wooden giant eased its way alongside the pier. Finally, he whispered, ‘Captain, I need you to do me a favour.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’ Thadrake stood.

  ‘Take the money we have left, along with whatever you can find amongst my personal effects … I would like you to locate my father—’

  ‘Should I bring him here, sir?’

  ‘Don’t interrupt, Captain!’ Jacrys spasmed and started coughing. He rammed the stained kerchief into his mouth and bit down, breathing through his nose, until the shaking stopped. When he removed the cloth, soaked through with blood and phlegm, he repeated, ‘Find my father, give him the money and let him know where he can find me. Keep enough – a silver piece or two – to get yourself back to General Oaklen. Sell the fennaroot, keep whatever you get – consider it a bonus for a job well done.’

  When he was sure Jacrys had finished, he asked, ‘Sir, it may take me several days to locate your father. What if—?’

  ‘I don’t care,’ the spy whispered. ‘I don’t anticipate any meaningful reunion. I want my father, because I want him to give me my rites. He’ll know how and where.’ He paused for a while, then added, ‘Consider yourself dismissed, Captain. I wish you well.’

  It took just a few moments to gather together Jacrys’ scant belongings. Anything else before I go, sir?’ he asked, feeling rather strange about leaving, even though it was a direct order from a superior officer.

  ‘Please.’ The word felt strange on Jacrys’ tongue. ‘Stoke up the fire, and pour me a goblet of that wine we had last night, fill it up right to the brim.’

  Thadrake picked the chunks of wood most likely to burn longest, then passed Jacrys his wine. The dying man cradled the goblet with both hands and watched the frigate, which had tied up at the pier, where it was immediately set upon by a team of stevedores rolling a block-and-tackle crane amidships. A twin-masted ketch, a quick, shallow boat, came alongside and lashed on to the starboard rail. Opening their shallow hold, her crew waited for whatever cargo they were to haul upriver. ‘Must be someone special,’ Jacrys muttered, but Captain Thadrake was already gone.

  ‘Where are you going so early?’ Alen appeared in the open doorway across the hall.

  Hannah whirled. ‘Jesus! You scared me.’ She rested a hand against the wall and willed her heart to stop beating so fast.

  ‘Can’t sleep?’ Alen asked quietly.

  ‘Did you see those ships that came in yesterday?’ Hannah whispered. ‘One of them has finished offloading soldiers and now it’s heading in to the wharf. I want to go down there and see what’s happening.’ She didn’t want to wake Hoyt or Milla. ‘The tide’s about to turn; so unless they’re planning to stay all day, they’ll only be here until they can start upriver. That gives us about half an aven.’

  ‘Hold on a moment,’ he said, ‘and I’ll come along.’

  ‘You don’t have to; I’ll be fine. I just want to—’ She looked at him, her eyes narrowed. ‘Alen, what are you doing awake? It isn’t like you to be up this early.’

  ‘Something’s happening,’ he said, fussing with his clothes, ‘but I’m not sure what it is.’

  ‘Steven?’ Hannah tried to ignore the sudden lurch in her stomach.

  ‘It’s something – or someone, I should say. It’s not like the bark shipments. This is different.’

  ‘Then let’s go. Bring Milla in here with Hoyt; we’ll be back before either of them wakes up.’

  ‘How is he?’ Alen whispered once they’d tucked Milla into Hannah’s bed.

  ‘He needs antibiotics, penicillin or something – this voodoo horse-shit isn’t working.’

  ‘But he’ll sleep for now?’ Alen looked worried. ‘Yes, deeply, and the querlis poultices keep his fever down, at least for a while, anyway.’

  ‘Very well,’ Alen said. ‘Lead the way.’

  ‘This is a big gamble,’ Captain Ford said, ‘and I don’t like it.’ He followed Brexan and Garec through the twisting maze of Pellia’s side-streets; Gilmour trailed behind.

  ‘I agree,’ Garec said, ‘but I don’t think it’s one we can avoid.’ He kept a look-out for morning patrols.

  ‘We need to find a healer, now,’ the captain said for the third or fourth time.

  ‘I understand that,’ Garec replied, also for the third or fourth time, ‘and we will.’ He carried his bow and quivers wrapped in a length of sailcloth, draped over his shoulder, effectively camouflaging the weapons.

  ‘Out here, on the wharf? Come on, Garec, you know as well as I that—’

  Garec stopped and took Ford’s arm, allowing Brexan to push on to the next corner alone. She checked the cross-street then motioned the others forward.

  ‘Captain, right now, they’re both resting,’ Garec said, ‘and they’re both as comfortable as we can make them. Pel and Kellin are with them, and they will stay there until we get back. We watched those frigates closely last night, all night, and none of us saw them unloading cargo; it was all soldiers. Now one of them is making its way to the pier and we have to assume that’s Mark, and we have to assume he has the table with him. We’ll find someplace to sit for a while; I’ll buy you breakfast. We’ll wait a bit, and we’ll watch. If he has the table, we’ll hit him with whatever we can, try to knock him off balance while we steal it, break it, drop it to the bottom of the harbour; I don’t know quite what, but we have to try something – and right now, we have to do it alone.’

  ‘Without Steven.’

  ‘You’ve seen Steven,’ Garec said, trying not to sound as exasperated as he was. ‘He’s in no shape to help us. And from what I understand, if the table is closed, Mark isn’t nearly as powerful.’

  ‘So what exactly do we do? I don’t like confrontations on dry land, Garec; they make me nervous. Why don’t we bring the Morning Star around the marina? She’s no good to us over there; we can take Mark out as soon as he shows his face; you can hit him from two hundred paces and Gilmour can blast that table to shards.’

  ‘Unfortunately for your plan, I think we need the table intact,’ Gilmour said quietly. ‘And as much as I would like us to find a healer and hurry back to the ship, we must first find out what Mark is doing. If he ties up at the pier and makes no move to unload the table, then yes, we need to hit him – who knows what he might do this close to Welstar Palace? He flooded Orindale just to stop us; he might destroy all of Pellia in his attempts to stop us pursuing him upriver. But I don’t think that’ll be the case; I’m betting the next round that he’s bringing it to shore. It’s heavy, so maybe he needs a crane. Maybe he doesn’t want to risk an accident in the water. He’s obviously in a hurry and dropping the table overboard would delay him here for a few days, maybe a Moon.’

  Pale and sweaty, Gilmour looked like a man on a head-on collision course with Fate. Losing Steven had been an unanticipated blow, and Captain Ford worried that the Larion Senator would soon see the rest of his strategy begin to unravel as well. He checked that his knife was loose in its sheath and joined the others as they hurried after Brexan.

  ‘How much further?’ he asked when she was within earshot.

  ‘Not far,’ Brexan said quietly. ‘A few more blocks, and we’ll be back on the river. It’s still early, but the wharf’s going to be busy in just a little while.’

  ‘That’s fine with me,’ Garec said. ‘It’s a lot easier to get lost in a crowd, and we all know the way back to the Morning Star. So if things come apart, don’t wait around, just get back to the ship, as quickly and as quietly as possible.’

  Ford had paid to moor the brig-sloop in a small marina ju
st south of the city wharf. They had been lucky crossing the Welstar River, for most of the Malakasian capital had turned its attention north to Mark’s mini-fleet. With the help of Steven’s camouflage spell, the Morning Star had passed through the barge traffic with little more than a wave from the flat-bottomed river-runners. But now, not sure what the four of them could do against the might of the Larion spell table, Captain Ford wished they had remained onboard; at least there they could escape. His little brig-sloop would easily outrun the prince’s barge fleet and be quickly out of reach of the deep-keeled frigates.

  ‘It’s cold,’ he grumbled aloud.

  Garec looked around. ‘I said I’ll buy you breakfast, just as soon as we get in sight of that fat wooden bitch. I’ll find you a nice tavern and buy you anything you want.’

  ‘I want a healer for Marrin,’ he complained.

  ‘Soon enough, Captain,’ Garec said.

  As if reading their minds, Brexan stopped behind a shipwright’s workshop. ‘There it is,’ she said.

  ‘Excellent work, my dear,’ Gilmour said, moving past her into the road running along the top of the wharf. Here, the city was wide awake, with dockers and stevedores bustling about and customs officers and shipping merchants reviewing manifests and inventory lists. A group of beggars huddled around a small fire someone had kindled on the cobblestones, and a trio of drunken sailors sang, off-colour and out of tune, as they stumbled towards their waiting ship. As the sun rose behind them, it lit up the Falkan frigate, even larger than they had imagined, which creaked and groaned alongside the deep-water pier. A team of workers rolled a wooden block-and-tackle crane out to greet her the moment she was made fast.

  ‘Look at that,’ Captain Ford muttered, ‘there’s a ketch coming up to starboard. Rutting whores, I should have thought of that.’

  ‘Of what?’ Garec whispered. He had been distracted by a Malakasian officer approaching through the early morning mist that hung over the slowly brightening docks. ‘Did you think we could sail up and have them load the table straight into the Morning Star? That’s an interesting thought, my friend, but I’m afraid there are quite enough innovative ways to die out here today without going looking for any others.’