Corsair

by Chris Bunch

  “You’re determined not to let my bad mood affect you.”

  “I’m determined,” Gareth agreed.

  “All right. I’ll give up on being a grump. It doesn’t fit right, anyway. And besides, you’ve got a present to open.”

  Cosyra reached behind the couch they were sitting on, took out a long bundle, and gave it to Gareth. He opened it and found a sheathed sword.

  “You’ll notice,” Cosyra said, “no jewels or geegaws to make some other sailor lust after it. A nice sensible blade-length, straight, double-edged. Double pommel, short, with upturns to catch an enemy blade, not long enough for you to get caught. Ratskin handle, pierced, so sweat won’t let the sword turn in your hand.

  “That’s a nice, sensible murderer’s blade, or so the armorer I consulted advised me. Together with a sensible belt, sheath, and a matching dagger.”

  Gareth was barely listening to her description. He drew the blade, made a few passes in the air, a parry, a jump-lunge.

  He tried the edge with a thumb.

  “It’s sharp,” Cosyra said, as he yelped and sucked on the small cut. “And you’re dumb.”

  “This is … quite a present,” Gareth said.

  “It’s been given a spell for greater strength, and against ever rusting, since it’s layered steel,” she said. “Now, give me a coin, for blades must never be given as presents, or they’ll cut the bonds of friendship.”

  “Superstitious wench,” Gareth said, digging a coin from his purse. “Here.”

  She stood to get it, and he pulled her into an embrace and kissed her. It was supposed to be just a grateful sort of kiss, but lasted a bit longer than he’d intended.

  Eventually, she pulled back.

  “My, sir. You presume.”

  “I … I sort of guess I did,” Gareth said, a bit breathless.

  “You could apologize by doing that again.”

  He did, and the kiss lasted somewhat longer. This time, it was Gareth who broke the embrace.

  “This isn’t a very good idea,” he said.

  “It isn’t?”

  “It might give me an idea beyond my station.”

  Cosyra’s voice went flat.

  “It might … and we both have enough problems without … without, well … oh the hells with them. Kiss me again, and then I’ll throw you out before either one of us can start thinking about there being nobody in this house who could stop things from … from doing whatever they might do.”

  Gareth obeyed, and it was very hard to break away.

  “Perhaps tomorrow, instead of your coming up here, I should meet you in a public place, or at your uncle’s.”

  Gareth took a couple of deep breaths.

  “Surely. Surely.” He looked at her for a long moment. “Don’t you hate being so damned sensible?”

  “I do … and get out before I stop!” Cosyra said.

  • • •

  “Your supplies are doubly, trebly, bound,” the small man in rather resplendent robes bragged. Captain Luynes looked at him skeptically.

  “Your pardon, Hern Perekop,” he said, “for I don’t mean to be either rude or skeptical. But I’ve sailed out other times with my comestibles magicked until they squeaked. Yet somehow, after some time at sea, and more significantly being a-port where other spells had been cast, things started spoiling.”

  “You should have no fear of that from my wizardry,” Perekop said, a bit pompously.

  “My purser here has said his uncle’s used your spells with success,” Luynes said thoughtfully. “That counts for something. What other spells would you suggest?”

  “If you’re willing to spend a bit more,” Perekop said, “I could also cast a grand spell against the fraying of your cordage for half a year.”

  Luynes looked surprised.

  “That’s something that could be useful. Why haven’t I heard of that before?”

  “It’s something I’ve newly developed,” Perekop said. “Of course, it’s a bit expensive, and for a new ship of this size I’d expect, oh, ten pieces of gold.”

  “Five,” Gareth broke in reflexively.

  “Nine.”

  “Five.”

  “Eight.”

  “Five.”

  “Shall we settle at seven?” the magician said.

  “Settled,” Gareth said.

  Perekop bobbed in satisfaction.

  “It’s an excellent spell, indeed it is, using dwarf nettle, elecampane, rare spices I grow, exotic incenses and words of power from the west. As with my other spells, I fully guarantee the results.”

  “Excellent,” Luynes said. “For I have a regrettable tendency to call on those sages who’ve disappointed me, at a later date. And some men say I have a temper that tends toward the extreme.” No doubt by accident his fingers touched his knife, a rather long, curved blade useless as a mariner’s tool.

  Perekop licked suddenly dry lips.

  “I’ll doubly seal these spells for you.”

  “Then I’ll be doubly pleased.”

  • • •

  “We are loading an interesting cargo,” Gareth said.

  “Ah?” His uncle looked curious.

  “Lead ingots as ballast in the bottom of the hold, which as I’ve told you can be modified into several different sizes, which I’ve never seen before.

  “The real cargo began arriving today. Crudely fashioned cutlasses first, then long knives that could, Captain Luynes said, be used, like the cutlasses, in harvesting tropic fruit.”

  Pol Radnor snorted amusement.

  “Then came long cases, which were marked as holding pipe. Luynes was very interested in seeing they were loaded well for’rd, where a port inspector’s not likely to note them.

  “Being your spy, I waited until he was called ashore on other business, found a prybar, and opened one of those cases.”

  “Spears? Crossbows?” his uncle asked with a bit of a smile.

  “Worse,” Gareth said. “Muskets. Cheaply made, but still …

  “Later, we loaded cases of iron tools — which actually were tools, needles, blacksmithy and carpentry gear — and then, most carefully, for’rd in the paint locker, barrels of gunpowder.”

  Gareth had expected surprise from his uncle, got none. Pol sat, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “It appears Captain Luynes intends to seek out trouble,” he mused. “His lading suggests he will go into strange, primitive waters in his quest for spices.

  “Don’t look alarmed or shocked, Gareth. In my earlier days I, too, was known to send weapons out, praying that the coastal guard wouldn’t search the ship. Remember that such cargoes are just legal, even though frowned on, and generally subject to seizure until the situation clarifies itself.

  “Unless, of course, it’s one of the king’s own ships taking weaponry to, ahem, support our allies. That also keeps any of our neighbors from being able to grab such devices for their own use.

  “Hmm, hmm. It would appear to me, Gareth, that you may indeed expect adventure from this cruise.”

  Gareth suddenly found the situation funny, and laughed very hard. When his mirth subsided, he shook his head. “If this were a romance, Uncle, shouldn’t our roles be reversed?”

  “Of course,” Pol agreed. “That’s why the foolish, or those who dislike the sharp bite of reality, seek out such trash.

  “And aren’t you home from your duties early?”

  “There was nothing more to load,” Gareth said. “We’ll board the final items, plus our water and fresh supplies, tomorrow.

  “Captain Luynes has set the sailing date for the dawn title, the day after tomorrow. Tonight I plan to dine with … with a friend.”

  • • •

  “Where are you taking me to dine?” Cosyra asked.

  “A pub named the Heron and Beaver,” he said. “They understand fish there.”

  “You mean, speaking in their tongues and such? How magical.” Cosyra giggled, tucking her arm in his. “Let us try not to fall on our butts as we go d
ownhill. Hardly dignified for a rising young officer of the merchant marine and his doxy.”

  “Doxy?” Gareth asked. “Virgins aren’t doxies.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Cosyra said. “Perhaps, if you ply me with wine, and a fine fish stew, with brandy afterward, when we return to my house, I might choose to invite you in.

  “After all, the day after tomorrow you are bound for distant shores, where all men carry deadly weapons against you, and all women are seductive sirens.”

  “I am?” Gareth said. “Tell me again about those seductive sirens. Ouch! That hurt!”

  “You are certainly a goatbrain at being romantic,” Cosyra whispered.

  Gareth turned serious.

  “I … I know. It’s sort of hard to look at somebody who was a friend, someone to jape with, and then change her into something else.”

  “There’s the problem between men and women,” Cosyra said. “We never seem to be able to think of friends as lovers.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Gareth said. “Not having the benefit of a noble education.”

  “Hmmph. Well, for starters, I would suggest you think of eating oysters.”

  “I’m shocked,” Gareth said. “Rough seamen like myself hear of such things, but not chaste ladies of the court.”

  “You’d be surprised how few of them there are,” Cosyra said. “And, truth be told, all I know about oysters — besides their taste, I mean — is what my friends giggle and whisper about.”

  They’d reached the waterfront, and stopped under a flickering lantern.

  “Perhaps,” Gareth said, “here’s a better place to start with romance, before the oysters.”

  He kissed her. After a while, she pulled her lips away, breathing a little hard, and was about to say something.

  “Get away from that bastard,” a voice grated from the shadows. Cosyra let out a little squeal, and spun as four men came out of the darkness.

  “Lord Anthon!” she said. “What are you … were you following me?”

  “I was,” one of the men said. He was slender, taller than Gareth, a year or two older. He wore elaborately dyed silks. A sword hung from his side. His face was sharp, his lips pinched over the scraggly beard he was trying to cultivate. The other three wore plainer but still expensive clothes, were also armed.

  “Now I see what company you prefer to mine,” Anthon said. He looked at Gareth.

  “You are Gareth Radnor, the one who shamed my sister,” he said. “My father has sought you long, and will be delighted that I’ll be the one who revenges our family name this night.”

  His hand went to his sword, and it flashed in the torchlight.

  “You’ll kill me where I stand, without a weapon?” Gareth said. “Brave indeed.”

  “You and you, take him,” Anthon said. Gareth’s hands came up as the two henchmen came closer. He struck with his right, full weight behind the blow, taking one man below the ribs. Air chuffed from the man’s lungs, and he bent. Gareth snapped another blow into the side of the man’s neck, and he fell back, gurgling.

  But then the other two men had him firm, one on either side.

  “Very good,” Anthon Quindolphin said. “Very good indeed.”

  “Anthon,” Cosyra said, “you cannot do this!”

  “Oh, but I can,” Anthon said. “No damned commoner can be permitted such liberties.”

  “If you don’t stop right now I’ll make sure your cowardice is known throughout the court,” Cosyra said fiercely. “And you’ll never be permitted to call on me again!”

  “What makes you think I’d want to call again on someone who’s proven herself no more than a sailor’s whore?”

  Cosyra stopped, frozen for an instant.

  “Now,” Anthon gloated. “We’ll start with your face, Radnor. Hold him secure, fellows.”

  Anthon stepped closer, and the shining point of his sword was just in front of Gareth’s eyes.

  Gareth collapsed forward, limp — then, held by the surprised toughs, lashed both feet up into the nobleman’s crotch.

  Anthon howled, and his sword clattered to the cobbles. He clutched himself, bending, straightening, yelping. The two holding Gareth relaxed their hold long enough for him to regain his stance, rake one foot down one man’s leg to smash the arch of his foot.

  The man shouted, let go, and Gareth half turned, hit the man still holding him in the cheek. The man grunted and let go of Gareth.

  Gareth danced free, and the third man was in a fighting stance, fists ready. The first man stumbled to his feet.

  “We’ll get the little bastard,” he managed, a knife coming from nowhere.

  “Kill him,” Anthon managed, panting. “Kill him now and throw him in the godsdamned river!” He staggered about, clutching his groin. The second man hobbled in, a short truncheon in his hand.

  Cosyra had Anthon’s sword in her hand. “Get away from him!”

  The third man had a sword out, dagger in his other hand.

  “Sir?”

  “Get the damned sword away from her,” Anthon ordered. “Don’t kill her unless you have to.”

  The man half smiled, came in on Cosyra.

  Gareth was looking about for a weapon as the other two henchmen closed.

  Then the darkness bellowed rage, and a very big man with wild-flying hair came out of the darkness, waving a long balk of lumber.

  One tough’s attention was broken, and Gareth was inside his guard, hitting him as hard as he could, very quickly, three times in the face. The man stumbled back, and Gareth clubbed him down with his fists clenched together.

  The man with the truncheon swung at Gareth, missing, and the hairy monster smashed him over the head. Gareth heard his skull crack.

  Cosyra lunged with Anthon’s sword, blade going home in the swordsman’s arm. He screeched, dropped his sword as Cosyra recovered and lunged again, her blade going to the hilt into his thigh.

  The man screamed again, turned, pulling the sword from Cosyra’s hands. He ran, hobbling, into the night, paying no attention to his master.

  Anthon Quindolphin looked at the huge man, ducked under his swing with the wood, and scuttled away, half-bent.

  The big man threw the wood after him, heard a thump and a shout of pain.

  Then there was nothing but a corpse, an unconscious man, an angry, beautiful woman, Gareth Radnor and the monster, under the lamp.

  “I had this Feeling I hadda be here,” the huge one rumbled.

  “Labala!” Gareth said. “It’s you! Where … how …”

  “Come on,” Cosyra said. “We’ll do jolly reunions later. The watch’ll be coming in a moment. Back for my house!”

  Gareth heard the shouts, the clatter of boots on the stones, saw the flash of lanterns, and the three ran hard.

  • • •

  By the time they reached Cosyra’s mansion, her anger had grown into a cold, deadly fury. She summoned her castellan and gave quiet orders. His face showed rage as well, and he hurried away.

  Moments later, horses galloped through the gates, and other servants tumbled outside, armed with swords, crossbows, and a scattering of pistols.

  About that time another servant arrived with a tray with hot tea, brandy, and other drinks.

  “Just in case that mad son-of-a-whore’s-get has an idea you might be here,” she told Gareth, “my men will back him off. And I’ve sent for a detachment of the King’s Guard, which I was told long ago owes my mother’s family.”

  “What about the man I slew?” Labala said.

  “I doubt anyone’ll bring that up, but if they do, I can vouch it was self-defense.”

  Labala nodded. “But can we be sure they’ll believe … oh.” He finally seemed to realize what sort of house he was in.

  “Sorry, lady.”

  “Dammit! Why does everybody keep doing that?” she snapped. “It’s still Cosyra!”

  “Mmmh,” Labala said.

  “I think,” Gareth said, “I’d best, when things clea
r up a bit, go for my ship. Since the only way Quindolphin found me was by trailing you, he can’t have any knowledge of the Steadfast.“ He grimaced. “But that’ll not let me say farewell to my uncle.”

  “Nor,” Cosyra said, “to eat oysters.”

  Gareth managed a wry smile. Labala’s eyes brightened.

  “You were going to eat oysters? Damn, but that’d be a fine feast, after an outing and playabout like we just had.”

  Cosyra giggled.

  “Never mind, Labala,” Gareth said. “I’ll give you silver for a bait of them if you want, later. But first, what was that you said about a ‘Feeling’? And can’t you brush that mop off your face?”

  “Gives me what they call statyur,” Labala said, but raked a paw through his hair until they could see most of his face. He drank off his glass of spirits, licked his lips.

  “Not my style,” he said. “Don’t suppose there’s any beer about?”

  Cosyra signaled for a servant.

  “What’s this stature?” she asked. “What are you now? Or should I ask?”

  “I’m sort of a magician,” Labala said. Gareth choked on his tea, got scowled at.

  “Don’t laugh, Gareth, or I’ll sink you. My family, back when they lived in the Eastern Isles, before we come to Saros, generally had some witch in the blood.

  “Just after you got took by that lord, giving us a chance to flee — for which I thank you and’ll thank you again — I went back to work, stevedoring, and was down in a hold, loading grain, which is dirty and kind of dangerous, especially if the bastard on the winch lets a net slip.

  “I was in the hold, as I said, tossin’ bags around, and I got this Feeling that we better move. I called out, everybody scampered, and a cable went and dropped big heavy bags of grain all over the place, but nobody got killed or anything.

  “That made me think, and if I see that damned grin again, Gareth, I’ll blat you one, I swear and vow. So I hunted me up a witch, and she showed me some simple spells, and damned if they didn’t work for me.

  “So I been doing that, casting fortunes along the docks, which sometimes is right, sometimes wrong, maybe a love potion for one of the whores. Making a little gold, some silver.

  “An’ then tonight I got a real strong sense I better be somewhere, and I saw your faces in my mind, and so I come as fast and hard as I could.”