Vincente laughed grimly. ‘Better, in some ways. I half expected a formal charge of treason from Ferdinand.’
Benito also seemed unsurprised by the turn of events. ‘It’s too soon for that yet, and he knows it. As for the Twin Isles – well, the Lords don’t like to be rushed, that’s all. Time is what’s needed. As you said, sending a fleet to New Island will do no harm. And in the meanwhile we can continue to lobby the lesser kings to convince them of your argument ...’
Vincente glanced around the hall, disgusted now. ‘No one here even cares about Stone Port. All they’re waiting for is the chance to debate what really matters to them. The fate of the Lord Designate.’
‘With Carrasco and Ferdinand once again leading the charge,’ added Fidel.
‘And the very throne in the balance,’ sighed the king.
The three men fell into sour silence, and watched on as the council disputed. Eventually it was agreed that a new fleet would be despatched to New Island, under joint command of Valdez and Castille.
But Dow saw that indeed many in the hall were indifferent and impatient. He sensed, as Vincente had suggested, that there was some other issue, unspoken but urgent, waiting to be dealt with: the matter, no doubt, that had forced this winter session in the first place.
But whatever that might be, the assembly were to be denied in their hope to see it aired. As soon as the decision was taken to send the fleet, the Sea Lord – having said not another word since defending Vincente – rose abruptly from this throne. Mutters grew in the hall, turning to outright groans when the high chamberlain, flustered by the hurriedness of it all, announced that the Sea Lord was adjourning the council until that afternoon.
Shouts of protests rang out, but Ibanez the Third had already limped through the door behind the dais and vanished – and following him, pushed by the attendant, went the figure in the veiled chair.
The hall dissolved into angry movement and noise. Vincente, Fidel and Benito exchanged glances, and bent their heads together in a conference that Dow could not hear. But a few moments later they were interrupted; a messenger dressed in the uniformed finery of the Sea Lord’s guard descended the stairs to where they stood.
‘Your Majesty,’ he announced, ‘my Lord Ibanez craves your attendance, and also that of Captain Vincente and his first officer, in his private apartments forthwith, should that be convenient.’
Eyes widening, Benito bowed his head. ‘It will of course be our pleasure to attend the Sea Lord directly.’
The messenger returned the bow. ‘If you will follow me thus, my Lords.’ He turned, and then paused a moment to look back. ‘Forgive me, but the Sea Lord has one other request. He asks that the New Island boy attend as well.’ His eyes fell on Dow. ‘He that rode the maelstrom.’
4. THE PLIGHT OF THE SEA LORD
Dow had thought that the Great Hall was a large space, but as the guard led King Benito’s party up through the palace, he realised that the Hall was in fact only a small hollow nestled in the palace’s lower tiers; around it and above it was a far vaster complex of state rooms and apartments and galleries, all busy with officials and servants, going about their business.
And yet as Dow and the others climbed stair after stair to the highest levels, the crowds of functionaries dwindled away, and a silence began to weigh in the hallways. By the time they reached the Royal Apartments, their footsteps were echoing and most of the chambers glimpsed through open doorways were dark. Gold and silver and crystal glinted everywhere, but dust sheets covered much of the furniture, and windows that opened to the outer world were shuttered fast. The air felt stale.
At length, their escort led them through a set of bronze doors that were guarded by two sentries, and then up a last flight of stairs until they emerged into what seemed to be a void of warm, stifling darkness, without ceiling or walls. But as Dow’s eyes adjusted to the light, he saw that they stood under the great dome that roofed the palace. An immense space was captured there beneath the curved ceiling, but the circular floor was quite bare, save for a suite of low couches and chairs at the very centre.
Spaced evenly around the dome were windows, perhaps thirty in all – each twice man-height, rising from the level of the floor – that would, if open, have given commanding views in every direction. But they were closed, made visible now only by the lines of light around their tall shutters, except for one window alone, thrown half-wide to reveal a sliver of grey sky beyond, and which gave the chamber its only pale illumination.
‘Please make yourselves comfortable,’ their escort said, indicating the couches, his voice falling dully in the heavy air. ‘The Sea Lord will be with you shortly.’ And with a final bow he was gone.
Nobody sat down. The couches were arranged about a wide, low table, and upon the table there rested a large object that was draped in a white cloth, like the dust clothes that covered the furniture on the lower levels. What it might be, Dow could not guess, other than that it was about five feet long and several feet wide, and partly curved along the edges.
The waiting drew out. Dow – feeling like a trespassing child under the great silent dome – crossed cautiously to look through the half-open window. It faced forward, he discovered, over the Twelfth Kingdom’s bow. Far, far below, a section of the foredeck was visible, an open space where a troop of marines appeared to be drilling. Beyond that were the forward masts, eight of them, bare of sails, and beyond that again the bow fortifications and the four gigantic bowsprits extending out across the sullen sea.
And it was the sea that struck Dow most, for he felt no movement, no swaying, even so high up, as there surely would have been on any normal ship, no matter how torpid the ocean. The palace could have been on solid ground, yet there, undeniably, was the water. The mind and the eye could not agree.
Commander Fidel joined him at the window.
‘These are not bright days for the Sea Lord,’ the first officer said, nodding at the other windows, so firmly shuttered. ‘I’ve seen this audience room full of light and people and laughter. But not now.’
Glancing about at the gloom, Dow found things like light and laughter difficult to imagine. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘This is a palace in mourning, or in a state that is very close to mourning. Have you not heard rumour of it yet? It’s all the Lords of the Fleet care about – rather than some far off raid at Stone Port.’
Dow only shook his head.
Fidel looked around briefly, to be sure that no one else had come into the chamber, and then bent his head closer. ‘I speak of Ibanez’s son – his only son and sole heir to the throne, Nadal, the Lord Designate, our future sovereign. He is missing, and has been so for nearly five years now.’
‘Missing?’
Fidel nodded gravely. ‘Lost at sea. At least, so it’s thought, for no one knows for certain. And without certainty, Ibanez has wrapped himself in darkness and solitude, to brood upon doubts.’
‘But what happened?’
‘Nadal went exploring. He was always – so they say – enamoured with tales and legends of the great discoverers of old, and was ever eager to go roaming himself. Ibanez, however, was long loath to permit it – there are, after all, no battles to be won in the northern ice, or profits to be made in the southern doldrums. Only dangers await there.
Nevertheless, Nadal was a full grown man and of strong will, and not to be denied. So at last he prevailed over his father, and five years ago was granted leave to set forth with a small fleet. But neither he nor any of that fleet have been sighted since, even though they should have returned within three years at the very most.’
Dow’s interest was gripped. A voyage of exploration! ‘Where did they go? What were they looking for?’
Fidel was staring through the window, considering the horizon. ‘What does any explorer look for? Glory. Immortality. Answers, perhaps. But to put it simply, Nadal went north, to the Ice. You see, some years ago now reports began to come in – from our deep-sea fisher
men, who will sometimes stray far from the normal sea lanes in search of rare and exotic catches – of strange happenings in the northern ocean. The fishermen spoke of warm currents where no warm currents should be, and of great openings in the ice fields, glimpsed from a distance, wider than any ever seen before. No one could explain it, but talk began to grow. Maybe the way was opening at last.’
‘The way?’
Fidel sighed. ‘It is an old belief. Long ago, when our ancestors were keen voyagers across all the ocean, they strained against the limits of the world. To the south the way was blocked by the Barrier Doldrums, and that way they accepted eventually they could never go. To the north meanwhile there was the Ice, seemingly a barrier equally impenetrable … or was it? There were stories told in those days of passages opening in the frozen wastes, and of new seas and new lands that lay waiting beyond, should any ship pass through. Such stories are told even today. Not everyone credits them, but it is to the north that the dreams of seekers for glory will always turn.
‘Of such a mind was the Lord Designate, and upon hearing the reports, nothing could restrain him from going to see for himself. Three ships his father permitted him to take, and so the three set forth, never to be seen or heard from again. Oh, searchers have been sent – but in vain, for no clue to the lost fleet’s fate has ever been found.’ Fidel looked again over his shoulder, and his voice fell further. ‘Hence the unrest of the eleven kings. Were Ibanez a young man and hale, or if he had other descendants, then such a matter, grave though it is, would not be of dire consequence to the empire at large. But the Sea Lord is old and unwell, and has no other children, and so the kings are growing perturbed. Should Ibanez die without a successor, what then? It is this question the Lords of the Fleet most urgently want to address.’
At which point the first officer straightened and turned, for suddenly there came, from below, a strange rumbling sound, and then a great clanking and creaking, as of wheels and gears at work. Dow turned too, and was startled to see that a square section of the floor, not far from the couches, had divided and was slowly sliding open, to reveal a dark cavity beneath.
‘Observe, Mr Amber,’ Fidel murmured, ‘the Sea Lord is indeed old, and unable to climb stairs, but do not think that this device was fashioned for his sake. No, it was fashioned for another.’
Rising now from below there came a platform – supported and lifted by some invisible mechanism beneath – to fill the space that had opened. Standing upon it were four guards, and amid them, leaning upon his stick, was Ibanez the Third. But Dow was more interested in the shape beside the Sea Lord – it was the wheeled chair once more, black curtains still draped from its canopy, hiding whoever it was that rode within.
With a click the platform stopped level to the floor, and Ibanez limped forward to greet his guests. He seemed even more shrunken and old now, for he had removed the royal wreath from his head, and discarded the golden robes he’d worn on the dais, replacing them with plainer garb that even so hung loose on him.
‘Thank you for coming,’ he said, going first to shake King Benito by the hand, and then Captain Vincente.
‘You are well, my Lord?’ Benito inquired.
‘Sit, sit,’ the Sea Lord insisted, nodding at the couches. ‘There’s no need for protocol here. We’re all friends, and this is an unofficial meeting. I’m as well as can be expected, Benito. So sit, please.’
In demonstration, the old man chose an armchair and lowered himself into it with a grateful sigh. One by the one, the others positioned themselves on this couch or that, all glancing questioningly, or uneasily, at the shape upon the table, covered by its sheet. The Sea Lord gave no hint as to what it was. A guard pushed the wheeled chair to the Sea Lord’s elbow, then withdrew to join his fellows away by the stairs, out of earshot.
Dow had lingered till last, uncertain, but then Ibanez’s gaze fell upon him, and the old man lifted a beckoning hand. ‘Here, boy,’ he said, patting the arm of the couch adjacent to his chair. ‘Let me have a good look at you.’
Dow hesitated still, but at a prompting nod from Fidel, he went and took the seat indicated. The Sea Lord studied him with eyes that were grey and rheumy, and yet penetrating nonetheless.
‘Aye. I thought as much. It’s so often the smaller ones, the quieter ones, who perform the greater deeds. That was a brave act, the riding of the maelstrom, no matter what some fools may say.’ A wintry smile crossed the old man’s features. ‘I journeyed to New Island once, you know, in my youth. I remember the Rip well. I even ventured out upon it one wild and windy day, and saw for myself how treacherous were the currents. But the maelstrom, that’s another matter entire. You have my respect.’
But Dow’s eyes had strayed over Ibanez’s shoulder, to where the wheeled chair crouched. The curtains were so black they swallowed all light, but did they move slightly, in and out, as if in time with laboured breathing from within? Could Dow hear, faintly, such breathing?
The Sea Lord noted his gaze. ‘Ah – but of course you have not before met Axay, scapegoat of the Twelfth Kingdom, a vessel of which, among my many other duties, I am captain and commander.’
Dow shifted, confused at this introduction. Should he speak to the figure in the chair? Could whoever was inside even see him or hear him? In the end, he only nodded awkwardly at the canopy.
A whispered laugh came from behind the gauze. ‘And greetings to you, Dow Amber of New Island.’
Dow almost shrank away, so startling was the voice. It was plainly adult in its tenor, and somewhat breathless, as if with infirmity and age, and yet in tone it was as light and sexless as a child’s.
The Sea Lord was smiling. ‘Do not be fooled, Axay is no infant – indeed, Axay is near as old as me. But while I have sat upon my throne a mere twenty-four years, Axay has been scapegoat to this vessel for more than forty, serving my father and his father before him. In fact, while there have been six Sea Lords in all since the dynasty was founded a century ago, there have been but three scapegoats here in that same time.’
Dow was trying not to stare at the gauze, all too aware now that someone unseen was watching him in return. But also – was there something odd in the way Ibanez spoke about his scapegoat?
‘And forgive the need of the veil,’ added the Sea Lord. ‘Partly it’s because Axay is sensitive to light, but partly it’s to spare the sensitivities of others, for there’s no denying that Axay is challenging to behold for those not used to doing so. Axay’s is a rare and confronting condition.’
The gauze breathed subtly, and the voice came again. ‘My Lord speaks truly – only I and two others have ever borne this malady, and those two others were my predecessors as scapegoat here, now deceased. Indeed, it is said that I cannot die until another like me is born to take my place; and that has not yet happened. But I see your confusion, New Islander. You wonder – am I a woman that speaks to you, or a man? My Lord has given no clue. Well, I’m afraid you must put such questions aside, for – as you would know if I permitted the veil to be lifted – the issue of sex has no meaning for the likes of me.’
Dow – doing his best to hide his amazement, and his repugnance too – could only bow his head again in acknowledgement.
‘Enough then,’ said Ibanez, turning to the others. ‘Captain Vincente, my apologies for the way things transpired below. Your warnings should not have fallen thus on such deaf ears.’
‘It was not unexpected, Lord,’ Vincente replied.
‘No, shameful as that is. But rest assured, your concerns struck home with me, and if the Lords refuse to send a fleet to the Twin Isles to investigate, then I will send one of my own. The puzzle of this strange boat must be solved, and the threat dealt with. Though I gather that you have a theory about the threat that you did not elaborate upon just now, below.’
‘Indeed, my Lord, I thought it unwise to raise it, unreceptive as the audience already was. I maintain that the Twin Isles are the most likely source of the attack – but it has occurred to me that a boat t
hat can move without sails need not fear to venture where we fear to venture for dread of becoming becalmed. In which case, my thoughts have turned to the Doldrums, and the half of the world that lies beyond them.’
‘The Doldrums?’ queried the Sea Lord. ‘You think such a vessel could have come from across the windless wastes of the Barrier?’
‘Perhaps, my Lord, perhaps not. It’s impossible to say without knowing more about the craft in question.’
Ibanez was shaking his old head in disbelief. ‘I cannot credit that any vessel, no matter how it is propelled, could survive the Doldrums. I ventured to the edge of them once, as a lieutenant serving upon one of my grandfather’s vessels, and the memory remains an evil one.’
‘Most likely you are correct, my Lord. Who knows if lands even exist beyond the Doldrums? All is mystery. I mention it only to illustrate the many questions and unknowns raised by the attack.’
‘Your point is well made,’ said the Sea Lord, straightening. ‘For now, however, I wish you to put aside all such matters from your thoughts. I have another, more pressing, request to make of you.’
‘My Lord?’
‘It concerns my son, Captain.’
A silence settled around the table for a moment, in recognition of the pain evident in the old man’s voice.
Vincente cleared his throat. ‘What of him, my Lord?’
Ibanez stared levelly. ‘You think him dead, no doubt, as does everyone else. Those jackals below certainly believe it, and want me to declare it officially, so that a new successor can be appointed. You saw the collusion of Carrasco and Ferdinand just now to ensure that your warning was ignored by the assembly – the same pair, as you know, are likewise in collusion to force me to nominate a new heir. One, of course, of their choosing.’
Fidel spoke up. ‘It’s an outrage. The naming of a new heir – forgive me, my Lord – is the prerogative of all the kingdoms, in joint election, not of two alone. Thus it was a century ago, when your distinguished ancestor was chosen. And thus it should ever be.’
The Voyage of the Unquiet Ice Page 8