by Chris Bunch
The blade spun once, and the haft took the driver in the face — not glamorous, but near as deadly. He screeched and threw his hands high, fell off the wagon to the side, and the wheels crushed him.
Gareth ran up the wagon tongue and pulled himself into the seat. There were two bravos in the back of the wagon, just realizing their murder-scheme was going astray.
The driver’s pistol, cocked, lay on the wagon seat. Gareth had it up, aimed, and fired. One of the rakehellies shouted in pain, grabbed his midsection and stumbled back, back, and fell off the rear of the wagon bed.
The last was pulling a dagger, and Gareth, sword in hand, leapt into the bed. His stance was easy, for this was no more than the deck of a rolling ship. The man swept at him with the blade, and Gareth ran him through, let him drop.
He turned back to try to stop the wagon’s careering course and saw, just ahead, a tight curve the wagon would never make.
Gareth sheathed his sword and leapt off the cart, into a small wind-battered tree, still with some of its leaves.
The wagon smashed into the stone wall of the curve. Gareth heard the horses scream and thrash as he crashed down through the branches, his cloak and clothes tearing, spinning down to land, breathless and staggering, on his feet.
He didn’t wait for the hue and cry, but saw a byway, darted into it, and was gone.
He’d had more than enough of Lord Quindolphin’s games, he decided, and the time had come to think of recompense.
• • •
“I don’t like this,” Cosyra said.
Gareth waited. He was getting used to Cosyra’s sometimes-oblique way of approaching things.
“There’s been a man snooping around my house for the past couple of days,” she said. “Waiting until the servants go out on an errand, then offering them silver to satisfy his curiosity.”
“About what?”
“About you and me.”
“Mmmh,” Gareth said. “I dislike pryers myself. Who do you suppose he’s spying for? Quindolphin?”
“That was my first thought. I hid beyond the gates, planning to wait until one of my servants indicated him, then I’d follow him to his lair and, possibly, have some of your men kidnap him and find out his master’s purpose. But I didn’t need any such romance, for I recognized him.
“Or, rather, I remembered where I’d seen him. In court, as one of the King’s Chamberlain’s agents.”
Gareth blinked.
“What does the king want to know about us?”
“I don’t know,” Cosyra said rather grimly. “But I do know that the less you come to King Alfieri’s notice, the better off you are.”
• • •
Sledges thudded, and the Steadfast moved in its ways, sliding backward. She hit the river stern-first, and water gouted.
“And I hope,” Labala said, finishing his incantation, “the demons of the sea and the air keep you safe, and whatever the gods of corsairs are, look over us.”
“It’s not a proper launching,” Thom Tehidy said. “For which thank the gods, for the brandy’ll not get wasted bashed over her prow, but tucked safe inside, where it belongs.”
“That’s what I like about men,” Cosyra said. “You’re so damned romantic.”
Wherries moved in on the Steadfast as N’b’ry, on the quarterdeck, shouted orders and lines went across. The ship would be towed cross-river for rerigging, then would join the twenty others waiting in a basin below Ticao.
“That man,” Gareth said, looking at N’b’ry, “is going to be a captain this time, whether he wishes it or not. We’ll not spare talent for its modesty.”
The day was bright, and there was a false hint of spring in the air, and he was nearly ready to sail.
• • •
“The name’s — ”
“Kuldja,” Gareth interrupted. “You were a foremast hand on the Revenge. A good one, too, as I recollect.”
He sat at a crude desk — a pair of salt beef kegs with a plank between them — on the main deck of the Steadfast. There was a line of sailors across the deck and down the gangplank. Behind him were Froln and Galf, who’d already signed aboard.
The man, a stubby, hard-muscled, bowlegged tough, looked surprised, then knuckled his forehead.
“Aye, sir. Heard you was signing on again. Th’ same Articles as afore?”
“Pretty much,” Gareth said. “It’s a little more complicated than before, since we’ve more sponsors. There’ll be soldiers on some of the ships, but they’re working for hire. But you’ll be down for a full share, as before.”
“But th’ treasure’ll be richer, too, up north?”
“I wouldn’t be sailing if I didn’t think it were,” Gareth said, and passed the quill pen across. The man scrawled an X, and Gareth neatly wrote in his name next to it.
“Good signin’ with you again, Cap’n, and hopin’ we’ll have more of your luck.”
“Thanks. You can move your duffle into the fo’c’sle any time you want here. I’ll be stationing you on the Steadfast, not one of the other ships.”
“I’ll be doin’ that tonight,” Kuldja said, turning to go.
“How’d your time ashore go?” Gareth asked.
“Not bad,” Kuldja allowed. “Got married. Bought the old bitch a sweetshop.”
“But you’d rather come aboard now? Things not going well?” Gareth was being, he realized, nosy. But he was very curious as to how his men had weathered their time ashore.
“Goin’ as well as anybody c’d ‘spect,” Kuldja said. “But bein’ in a bed that don’t move gets tiresome. An’ th’ old bitch has two kids afore me.”
“Welcome back,” Gareth said, and turned, hearing a chant:
“Up the rope he will go
He will go
He will go
Bein’ hanged the best he should know
He should know
He should know …”
Four very drunken men stumbled up the gangway, carrying a fifth, who dangled between them, snoring loudly.
“P’mission t’ come ‘board,” the first one said, touching his forehead, almost falling. He and the others didn’t wait for an answer, but jumped down onto the main deck, the fifth man’s head clonking loudly against a bulwark.
Gareth knew all of them as rogues and competent rascals. All five looked badly battered and were shabbily dressed.
“Lookin’ t’ sign aboard, bein’ out of money an’ with the watch prob’ly on us,” one said, then sighed and slid to the deck.
“Froln, do you fancy these relics?” Gareth asked, grinning.
Froln shrugged. “Why not? At least three of ‘em made it aboard on their own feet. Better’n the last group we took.”
The five were guided to the side, waiting for one of the ferry boats to take them to Froln’s new ship, the Seawrack.
“Cap’n,” Galf said. “Here comes our backbone.”
Gareth went to the rail, saw a tight knot of brown-skinned men coming down the dock, trying to stay in some kind of file and step. At their head was Dihr. All of them wore fresh, clean whites, striped collarless shirts, and had matching dunnage.
“Permission to come aboard, sir?” Dihr called. “Got a crew of men here, looking for berths if there’s any left.”
“Come along, my friend,” Gareth said. “I was hoping you men of Kashi hadn’t decided to buy a town somewhere and turn your backs to the sea. A thousand welcomes to you.”
There was no trouble filling the lists. Many of those who’d sailed with Gareth before came back, other experienced seamen followed. There were also boys and young men looking for adventure, and a goodly share of others, men running from something — a harsh master, the law, a bad marriage, the grinding toil on land, mostly themselves.
Some gave their proper names, others thought hastily, found another label to live under.
Gareth took all that were hale and hearty, caring little where they came from or what laws he was breaking by not inquiring as to their pas
t.
The sea would forgive … or forget … all that came before.
• • •
“What is it you found?” Gareth asked.
“A clever thing indeed,” Labala said, unwrapping the glittering green cloth. “Here you have a bit of sulfur, nestled in some kindling. That’d be paired to some other kindling by the wizard who built the package, for an easy job of arson. Here is what I think’s a dried-up worm. Enliven that — which takes a good magician to bring anything back to life, even a worm — and that’ll be at your food or the wood of your hull.
“Here’s something that might be poison, which I didn’t taste. Hells if I know how it’d be conveyed into a barrel, and multiplied.
“Gunpowder, this, with a little vial of water. Perhaps those could be charmed into life, and take kin with the gunpowder in the magazine.
“All things a master magician would come up with to destroy a ship a day — or a month — distant at sea,” Labala finished.
“Pitch it overboard,” Gareth said.
“I’d rather not,” Labala said. “It’s been rendered harmless, I think, and it might have some uses in the close by-and-by.”
Gareth reluctantly agreed, asked, “Where’d you find it?”
“Cuddled down like a babe in the sail stowage, right here aboard the Steadfast, under everything where it’d never be found ‘til it worked one or another of its evils.”
“How’d you find it?”
“Well, Gareth, meaning no offense,” Labala said, “I know you’ve got sentries aboard all our ships, and others rowing around all of the day and night.
“But I spent too much time on the docks not to know there’s always a way aboard a ship, any ship, so I planted little charms, little warners, here and there aboard them all, nice little spells on them that’d twig me if someone of evil intent came aboard.
“Damned hard spell to cast, if I do say so myself,” Labala went on. “Considering the villains and footpads you’ve been signing aboard.
“But one yapped to me, like a small but fierce watchdog, and so I came.
“I’ve spent the last few hours prying at it, not just with my fingers, and I can give you a direction its caster might be found in. Matter of fact, I took an hour and tracked my casting, and I doubt if you’ll guess who most likely laid it.”
“I rather think I will.”
“Perhaps we should never have gone pranking with those pigs?”
Gareth could feel the simmering anger boil up. “Perhaps so, perhaps no. But I think it’s now time to make a call on the Lord of Pigs’ wallow.”
• • •
Lord Quindolphin’s “wallow” sat on the royal Mount, an ornate, crenellated stone mansion, with high walls and spiked ironwork atop them, most defensible against warders or the mob.
The gate yawned open invitingly.
There were twenty men standing with Gareth, carefully chosen men of the Steadfast. None appeared armed.
The street outside the mansion was thronged with passersby, many of them wearing cloaks, none looking interested in the sailors.
“Well,” Gareth said. “Into the lion’s den and see what develops.”
The men moved forward. Labala stepped aside.
“I think I might be of more good out here.”
No one argued — few questioned magicians’ thinking.
The courtyard was cobbled with variegated stones, and to one side were stables and, in open sheds, various carriages. The yard was deserted.
Gareth led the way to the main entrance steps, and, suddenly, the open iron gates banged shut, with no one visible shutting them.
“Stop,” a voice boomed. “Quite far enough.”
Lord Quindolphin stood on a balcony door to one side glaring down.
“I don’t believe you were stupid enough to walk into my grasp, Radnor.”
“I am merely a citizen who feels wronged by you and seeks recompense.”
“Recompense?” Quindolphin laughed humorlessly. “You sorry bastard, do you think you’re still in the land of pirates, where someone can do exactly as he pleases if his sword is sharp enough?”
“Why not?” Gareth said calmly. “You seem to.”
“You have luck,” Quindolphin growled. “Otherwise, the shame you brought my family would have been blotted out years ago.
“But now the balance shall be finally evened. You’ve entered my grounds with hooligans, and all laws say a man has the right to defend himself.
“Dessau, attend me!”
A man appeared on a smaller balcony next to Quindolphin’s.
He had long silver hair and beard, carefully tended, and wore a loose black tunic and pants.
“Yes, Lord?”
“Destroy these trespassers who intend harm to my family and myself!”
Dessau smiled thinly. “It is my pleasure, Lord Quindolphin.”
He looked down at the sailors, and Gareth heard someone moan in fear. Others drew hidden long knives and pistols.
“A proper defense … I’ve always been fond of fire. Most fond,” Dessau purred.
He held out his right hand, finger pointing at Gareth, and his left hand moved in strange arabesques:
“My beauty
My pride
My friend
My sword
Come to me
Bring your power
Your terror
As I order you
Strike!
Strike now!”
A tiny ball of flame appeared at the tip of his finger, grew until it was the size of his head. Again, Dessau shouted, “Strike now!” and the flame shot away from the wizard, then stopped in midair, coiling back on itself like a waking cat, and lashed back at the wizard.
It flowed around his arm like quicksilver and Dessau screamed, pawed at himself, fell back out of sight.
Quindolphin gaped in astonishment.
“You have attempted to kill me,” Gareth shouted, playing as much to witnesses as Quindolphin had. “I charge you, my loyal men, to take this man into custody to face the King’s Justice!”
Out of an alley a dozen men ran, carrying an iron-butted length of heavy wood. They smashed the ram into the iron gates, and they pinwheeled apart. The men, openly armed, trotted into the courtyard, others, casting aside their cloaks and the role of idle street wanderers, behind them.
“Guards!” Quindolphin shouted, his voice cracking. “To me!”
Doors slammed open, and men crowded into the courtyard, all wearing dark red and black livery, all heavily armed.
“Take them!” Gareth cried, drawing his sword and pulling a pistol from inside his coat.
He ran for the mansion steps, and two men blocked his way. A pistol banged behind him, and one guard dropped. The other lunged, and Gareth parried, put his blade in the man’s chest.
He butted at the mansion doors, then Tehidy was beside him, and the men with the ram. The door smashed into flinders, and he was inside.
“Harm no one who doesn’t try to stand against you,” he called. He saw stairs, and ran up them, looking for Quindolphin, hoping that when he found him, he’d fight rather than surrender to very questionable arrest.
A fat, middle-aged woman was at the landing, holding towels. She shrieked, fainted, and Gareth leapt over her body, went up a flight, then another, to the level the balcony was on.
A young woman’s face peered from a doorway, then the door slammed and he heard bolts snicking. Paying no mind, he ran on, saw an open door, looked inside.
Sprawled on the floor, his arm blackened, the wizard Dessau writhed.
“Please … please …” he moaned.
Gareth heard a door bang, footsteps, ran on. He rounded a corner in time to see a door bang closed, heard the heavy bar being dropped in place. He slammed at it hard and bruised his shoulder, without effect.
He started back the way he’d come, hoping to catch Quindolphin below.
Labala stood in the corridor, looking at the burned wizard.
>
“I looked into your little packet,” he said to the fallen man. “And thought the devices you’d had your dogsbody plant might be some of your favorites. So I built some counterspells before we came here.
“Next time we meet, wizard, don’t be so damned sure of yourself.
“And cast your spells with your left hand.”
He laughed nastily, and Gareth had him by the arm.
“Come on, Labala! Help me find Quindolphin!”
“Certainly, Gareth,” the big brown man said calmly. “You have but to ask.”
They clattered downstairs into chaos.
There was a knot of terrified servants in a corner of the great room, and every now and then a pirate would survey one or another of the younger maids and lick his lips; but they obeyed orders and harmed no innocent.
Things were different for Quindolphin’s guards. Their bodies were scattered across the courtyard, moaning wounded lying here and there. Gareth grudged them their courage, grabbed men and told them to look for the lord and, come to think of it, for his son.
But neither Anthon nor the lord were found, having either a snug bolthole somewhere in the mansion, or a secret back passage to flee the grounds.
After an hour, Gareth ordered his men away.
There was no fire, but the mansion’s interior was thoroughly wrecked. Furniture was broken, art ripped, statues smashed, food and wine splashed around walls, crystal crunched underfoot.
“Your crew’s a barbaric bunch of bastards,” N’b’ry observed, considering the damage, not intending humor.
“They are,” Gareth agreed. “And I suppose I’m a barbarian amongst them, for I can’t summon a tear for anything other than I wasn’t able to get Quindolphin at the point of my sword.”
N’b’ry looked at him and shook his head.
• • •
Cosyra did much, much more.
“I don’t believe you had the temerity to go after a great lord like Quindolphin so openly! Gods, Gareth, you can’t do things like that!
“We’re a civilized country here. It would have been all right to hire an assassin, or a poisoner, or a wizard to give him a deathspell, or even a gang of footpads to waylay him when he goes out. We’re realistic about sometimes having to go beyond the law.