The Voyage of the Unquiet Ice

by Andrew McGahan

  Nell suddenly spoke. ‘My Lord, what of Axay?’

  Ibanez stared at her, his laughter gone.

  ‘Does Axay yet live?’ Nell pressed softly.

  The Sea Lord shook his head, tears brightening in his eyes. ‘On the night of my overthrow …’ He faltered, then recovered himself. ‘The usurpers, you see, required some means to bend me to their will. They knew they could not injure me in person, for I must be able afterwards to appear before the Lords with no sign of violence upon me. Nor do I have any family they could threaten. Nadal is gone; my wife is long passed away. That left only Axay, who I have known and loved since I was a child. They … they wheeled in the chair, and tore off the curtain … and Axay could not … they tortured …’

  He couldn’t go on. But Nell, pale with suppressed fury, was insistent. ‘So Axay died that same night?’

  ‘No,’ whispered the Sea Lord. ‘They did not even mean to kill, I think, only to inflict pain, so that I would be forced to witness it. And Axay indeed still lived when I surrendered, and signed the papers they wanted me to sign. But Axay was not as other folk are, and they did not understand the damage they’d done. My scapegoat lingered another month in agony, but then …’

  Nell took a steadying breath, as if to push the outrage away, for – as Dow understood suddenly – her concern was not Axay’s death in itself. ‘And no new scapegoat has been appointed since?’

  ‘None so far. All Great Island is being scoured in search of one who’s afflictions might be the equal of Axay’s – but no one yet has been found. In my heart, I believe there is no such a one. The line is broken.’

  ‘Then beware, Lord,’ said Nell, ‘and do not dismiss the blacksmith’s warning lightly, or trust too much in the strength of the Twelfth Kingdom – for without a scapegoat, this is now a ship that is unprotected from defeat, or from any other disaster fate may have in store for it.’

  Johannes added, ‘And this is an attack unlike any other.’

  Ibanez stood in startled reverie for a time, then slowly drew himself up. ‘If that is so, Twin Islander, then it’s all the more reason I should stay. A shadow of a Sea Lord I may be now, but I am the true Sea Lord, the last of my dynasty, and this is my ship. I will not abandon it.’

  Nell stirred, a deep reluctance in her eyes. ‘My Lord, perhaps if I served, just for a time …’

  Reading the impulse in her, Dow shook his head. ‘No. You can’t do it. You can’t stay here.’

  Ibanez smiled gently. ‘He’s right, child. You are not Axay nor of Axay’s ilk – though it is a noble offer. But in any case, Valdez and Castille would never tolerate you as scapegoat here, even as a temporary measure. They would destroy you. Your fate lies elsewhere. So go, save yourself if you can. In fact, I command it.’ He nodded again to his marines. ‘Take them. Now.’

  And so they went – Dow and Johannes and Nicky, with Nell following behind – led by the two marines. Dow’s last sight of the Sea Lord was a glance back as they passed beneath the raised grill. The old man was bent sadly to inspect the dead man at his feet – one of three slain prison guards that lay in the passage – while his own guards waited patiently. Then Dow and the others rounded a corner, and their race to escape began.

  The marines led them quickly and surely, first up two flights of stairs, and then along many dim passageways, lit only by lamps. The sounds of the battle grew louder. They were still below the level of the gun decks, but they began to encounter sailors dashing this way and that, and also some bearing wounded men to the ship’s surgeons. No one took any notice of Dow and the others. The air was one of disorder and alarm.

  On they ran, down corridor after corridor, past dormitories and storerooms and kitchens, and sick bays where men screamed and where surgeons raised bloody hacksaws. And now smoke could be smelled in the passageways, and the acrid scent of gunpowder.

  At last the marines led them up another flight of stairs, and they emerged to the open spaces of the lowest of the great gun decks, squarely amidships. It was dark even here, so Dow knew finally that it must be night outside. And now the cannon fire was deafening, booming from both left and right, but in the gloom and haze Dow could still not see the cannon themselves, let alone the ocean beyond, or the state of the fighting.

  Powder boys and gunners and junior officers darted about through the smoke, toting shot and powder, or calling hoarse orders, but in all the chaos none of them hindered Dow’s party. They hurried towards the stern once more, angling sideways as well, until at last the deck’s rear bulkhead loomed through the haze. A hatchway opened there, and a stairway led downwards again into darkness. ‘The dock lies below,’ yelled the first marine.

  But Dow and the others slowed, for the smoke here thinned a little, and now the cannon along this one side of the deck were visible, a seemingly endless row of them extending away forward to vanish again in the murk. Gun crews were busy loading and firing in constant thunder, the sound and stench terrific. But between the last gun emplacement and the stern bulkhead, there was an opening in the hull, a window that gave direct view to the ocean. Irresistibly drawn, despite the protests of the marines, Dow, and Johannes and Nicky behind him, went to the window and looked out upon the battle.

  The hour was nearing dawn. A blue-black sky hung over the field, dark with clouds, and made even darker by the flare and flash of the conflict beneath. Smoke rolled across the Millpond in great billows, and moving in stately hostility amid the smoke, their sails fully set in the slow airs, were the ships of the opposing fleets.

  Many were already burning, or wrecked and adrift, and the fleets themselves were intermingled and disordered by battle. But despite the confusion, Dow saw even in his first glance that this was indeed no civil engagement of Ship Kings against Ship Kings. The vessels defending the Twelfth Kingdom were all too familiar to him – some twenty or thirty of them, flying the flags of Valdez and Castille – but the attacking warships, which numbered no fewer, were unlike any he had ever seen.

  At Dow’s side, Johannes was fairly hopping with excitement, and Nicky, who rarely even smiled, was grinning madly. ‘Do you see?’ cried the blacksmith. ‘Do you see, Dow Amber? The moment has come at last. We strike, and we strike hard!’

  Dow stared. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Those ships come from my homeland, Red Island and Whale. They are Twin Islanders out there!’

  In disbelief, Dow looked to the ships, then back to Johannes. ‘Twin Islanders? But how—?’

  Laughing, Johannes shook his head. ‘The tale is a long one – too long for now. Suffice to say that we have for many years been building a fleet in secret. For decades. To challenge the rule of the Ship Kings. The attack on Stone Port was a first test. But now real battle is joined.’

  Dow didn’t know what to say; this was a revelation that raised so many questions and objections in him it was impossible to start with just one. Nor was there time. Inquiries and explanations must wait for later. For now, the battle itself demanded all his attention.

  He stared again over the field. A first it seemed to him that for all Johanne’s jubilation, the Twin Island ships were in fact no match for the Ship Kings vessels. They were as large, if not larger, than their opponents, but they possessed only one gun deck apiece, and they were slow – great, fat bellied craft that moved in cumbersome deliberation, with squat masts and thick rigging and blunt bows. The Ship Kings craft, swifter and lighter, were sailing circles about them, like hunting dogs herding helpless beasts.

  And yet the longer he watched, the more Dow realised that the Twin Islanders were holding their own.

  The Ship Kings might blaze at will at the massive hulls of the Twin Island vessels, but their broadsides seemed to do little damage. Nor could the Ship Kings sweep the Twin Islander decks with lethal fire, for the Twin Island crews were shielded all around by high gunwales. And so stout were the masts and sails of the Twin Island vessels, that even barrages of Ship Kings grapeshot were causing less havoc there than they might.
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br />   These new ships, Dow finally understood, weren’t built for attack at all. They were built for defence. Their purpose was to hold their positions and withstand whatever might be thrown at them for long enough to enable their true weapons to be launched – and those weapons, many already in the water, were stunningly recognisable to Dow.

  Boats. Long, low boats that slid over the sea without aid of sail or oar. Boats that moved, as if by magic, all on their own. Dow and Vincente had glimpsed just one such craft on the night of the burning of Stone Port. But here were thirty at least, just in this single span of the battle.

  It was like seeing a ghost – many ghosts – revealed in full daylight. Even as Dow watched, another was being lowered from one of the Twin Island ships, just as a cutter might be launched – except that it was larger than a cutter, and sharper in the bow, like a sea-borne dagger. It hit the water with a splash and within moments was pulling away, a white wake frothing behind it.

  They were attack craft of some kind. They bore no cannon or muskets on their open decks – but their intent was clearly offensive. And so swiftly did they advance, and so lithely did they steer, there was nothing the Ship Kings warships could do to interfere with them.

  And one question, at least, Dow had to ask, whether there was time or not. ‘How do they move?’ he demanded of Johannes. ‘What propels them?’

  The blacksmith laughed again. ‘Oil, my friend. Refined whale oil – that most precious of oils, collected jealously through the years – burnt in mechanisms of iron. I cannot hope to explain it – not to one so ignorant of metal work as are you. But watch now. In the Stone Port attack these boats were used merely as swift transports to ferry the mines to the harbour’s mouth – it was swimmers who attached them to the ships. But here the boats will perform their truer tasks. Note the iron rams on their bows. And see – there one goes!’

  Johannes was pointing out across the water. One of the boats had locked on to a battleship as its target, and was making a run directly for the ship’s midriff. In reply, the Ship Kings craft was letting loose a continuous cannonade, but the shots were sailing high. The gunners, seemingly, could not lower their aim fast enough.

  Dow noted the prow of the boat. It was long and black and sharp, extending some way underwater, and sited behind it on the boat’s foredeck was a collection of barrel-shaped things, bound by ropes.

  Dow had seen those barrels once before.

  At full speed, the boat slammed into the battleship’s side, the ram plunging deep and cruel into the vitals of the hull. The men on the boat, having braced themselves against the impact, now worked hurriedly at fittings near the prow, loosening them. In moments, the ram broke clean away from the rest of the craft, which proceeded, by the power of its mysterious propulsion, to reverse off from the ship, froth churning at its stern.

  The ram was left embedded in the battleship’s heart. But the hole it had made was not the worst it could do. For the barrels had remained behind with the ram, and they were now held hard up against the hull. Dow found he was counting under his breath. Any instant now—

  Whump.

  Fire roared up and out, engulfing the battleship’s side.

  ‘Ha!’ cried Johannes.

  They could win, Dow thought wildly. This impossible fleet, with its impossible attack boats, might actually beat the Ship Kings! The battleship was a wall of flame now, veering away in a drift as flames roared up through its rigging. Men were diving overboard.

  But then another flash caught Dow’s eye, and this time it was one of the Twin Island ships that was suddenly roaring up, ablaze. It was under attack from three Ship Kings frigates, each thundering away with a kind of shot that was new to Dow – one that burst into flames upon contact, especially in the rigging. The Ship Kings too, it seemed, understood the power of fire.

  Johannes was nodding, watching the same thing. ‘Aye, I thought they’d bring out the incendiary shot soon enough. The Ship Kings scarcely use it when they war with each other, for in those battles they want the other ship intact as a prize. But this is a battle to the death.’

  ‘Look!’ cried Nicky, in rare voice, pointing.

  Through the smoke, and much nearer to the Twelfth Kingdom, a flotilla of the deadly boats had appeared, as dark and swift as sharks. There might have been ten in all, spread out line abreast.

  They were advancing directly for the capital ship.

  There came a frenzy of shouts along the gun deck, and a scramble among the gunners to lower their sights. A fusillade fired off, a rending thunder, and the waters about the boats shattered into white foam. Most of the shots were too high, but Dow saw a rake of grapeshot catch one of the boats squarely. The men on its narrow deck had little protection – only some framework about the wheel, amidships – and their bodies seem to writhe and fall apart in a horrible, invisible hail. The boat veered off its course, a flicker of flame appeared, and then, with a whump, the whole thing exploded.

  But nine boats still came on. A second broadside swept the deck of another of them, and likewise annihilated its crew – Dow could only marvel at men who dared stand upright on such exposed platforms, with nothing but speed and agility to protect them – but then it was too late. The remaining eight boats, their line slightly staggered now, ploughed one by one into the Twelfth Kingdom’s side.

  Dow had leant from his window to see down to the waterline, twenty feet below, and the first of the attackers hit almost directly beneath him, with a thudding screech of metal and an awful splintering of wood and nicre. He waited only to witness the ram detaching and the boat withdrawing, then he ducked out of harm’s way. The explosion when it came drowned out the cannon fire, and it was echoed by similar explosions all along the ship. Suddenly wounded men were screaming and fire was raging upon the gun deck.

  The two marines shouted at Dow, furious at the delay – and they were right. It was more than time to depart. The Twelfth Kingdom was immune, perhaps, to sinking, but not to burning. Dow rose, and with Johannes and Nicky following, made for the hatchway and the stairs.

  But where was Nell?

  There. She was at the window Dow had just left, staring aghast at the carnage even as flames rose to block the view. She seemed paralysed, deaf to his shouts, so Dow ran to her, clutched her shoulder and spun her around. ‘The fire will take hold – we have to go!’

  Her eyes could not seem to focus on him. ‘With the Twin Islanders? But they’re the enemy. You’re the enemy.’

  ‘Enemy or friend, we’ll all burn! Come on!’

  And dragging her by the arm, he led her down the stairs in pursuit of the others. Choking smoke billowed, and after the brightness of the fire they stumbled blindly in the lower passages. But Dow could hear Johannes shouting ahead, and eventually they reeled from the haze onto a narrow deck that was open to the grey pre-dawn light.

  They had reached a strange part of the ship; a walkway that ran traversely, almost at water level, right across the Twelfth Kingdom’s stern, giving access to the steering gear of the four great rudders. Hurrying along this walkway now between mighty chains and cables, they came at last to a platform that was sheltered between the central two of the rudders, and which reached down in stages to the waterline; the Sea Lord’s private dock.

  Such a landing place could not have existed on any normal ship, but the size and slowness of the Twelfth Kingdom, and the placid waters of the Millpond, made it possible. They leapt down onto the platform, and ran to its edge. The dock boasted many rings and bollards to which a boat might be tied, but there were no boats. Dow stared out at the ocean. Would they have to swim for it? The din of the fire was rising from behind.

  But the two marines had gone to a great set of doors that overlooked the landing. The doors were locked, but hammering at the bolts with their muskets, they soon managed to swing them open. Within lay a cavernous chamber – a boatshed. At its centre stood a large and canopied vessel that Dow could only assume was the royal launch. It was chained tightly to the floor, and
there was no time to free it, but that didn’t matter; on either hand were many smaller boats, cutters and the like, lying free.

  In moments Dow and Johannes and Nicky had chosen one and dragged it down to the water. The two marines stood by uncertainly – but then there came an explosive roar from the decks above, and smoke belched down among the steering gear. That decided them. They took a second boat and slid it to the water in preparation for their own escape.

  Nicky and Johannes were already aboard and running out the oars – but Nell, Dow saw, was hanging back again, staring up to the stern battlements that arched overhead here, their cannon firing still.

  ‘Nell!’ he cried.

  Johannes echoed him. ‘By all the seas, girl, hurry. Once we’re away I can signal one of our ships – they’ll know I’m a Twin Islander and pick us up. It’s your only hope of escaping your own people.’

  Nell turned then, a strange smile on her face. She said to Johannes, ‘But that’s just it. They are my own people. And your people are your people, not mine. I’m their enemy. I can’t go with you.’

  ‘You can’t stay here!’ Dow contended.

  Her gaze was calm. ‘I won’t. I’ll go with the marines. We can escape the fire, and one of our own ships will pick us up eventually.’

  ‘But they’ll be Valdez and Castille ships. You won’t be safe with them. They’re the ones who want you in prison.’

  She took a step closer to him, earnest. ‘That’s exactly why I can’t go. I can’t leave my own folk in the hands of fools like Carrasco and Ferdinand – especially now, if there’s to be a war with the Twin Isles. There are still plenty of people who are loyal to the old order in their hearts. With their help I can make my way to a friendly refuge. Not Othrace – but Valignano maybe. I hear that Benito is in rebellion and has blockaded Haven Diaz, refusing to acknowledge the new regime. He’ll take me in. And from there I can help spread the truth about what really happened – here, and in the Ice.’