by Tim Paulson
“Oh... it's nice. Much better than before,” the fat man replied, furtive eyes darting up at Aaron's stone form. “The food is excellent!”
“I'm sure it is." Buckley replied. "Come with me, we're heading down the hall to the other room. You can explain today's predicament on the way.”
“Yes sir,” Guy said, though he struggled to keep up with Buckley's pace. “We've hit a sort of a... a snag in the States General assembly.”
Aaron followed behind them. The Prime Minister of the purple republic kept glancing back as if he expected a stone hand to suddenly reach for his throat.
Not until he orders it, Aaron thought. Don't make him angry.
“And that is?” Buckley replied.
The man looked at his hands, which were clenched together as if he were about to launch into a prayer. “There are two factions in the States General.”
“There are a great deal more than that aren't there?” Buckley asked. He'd reached the door to the conference room which he wrenched open. “Get in,” he ordered.
The shorter man rushed to comply. “Yes... Of course, you're right. However, the two I'm speaking about are enemies. There's the Luddites sir. They're a group of Puritans tha-”
“I know who they are. A bunch of fools who think veil energy is against the wishes of God. They cost us money everywhere they crop up. I swear, a new group of reformers shows up every damned week. Sit.”
“Yes sir,” the Prime Minister said, taking a seat at the side of the table. “The problem is they've introduced a law that will extend the religious freedom clause of the founding document to allow them to reject veil power in their areas of the city, something which as you know is currently prohibited by law.”
Buckley looked disgusted, shaking his head.
“They also wish to allow cohabitation with dierlijt. They're very friendly with the beasties sir,” Guy said, nervously drumming his fingers on the desk.
“Stop that with your fingers. Stop, before I have them chopped off.”
Guy did so, putting his hands on his lap, swallowing.
“So you see sir, I'm in a bit of a bind. The Cavlinists are in an uproar about it, saying to even live near the beasties is a sin, let alone with them.”
“And I told you to make sure that veil is in use by as many citizens as possible,” Buckley replied. He was still standing, stalking actually, back and forth across the room, hands behind his back.
“Yes sir,” the Prime Minister said. “What should I do?”
“Do the Luddites have enough votes to succeed?”
“Nearly sir, it could go either way, if you take my meaning.”
Buckley nodded. “You will let them succeed.”
The fat man's eyes widened. His face reddening even more. Aaron was starting to suspect he'd bolstered his strength with a large dose of liquid courage before his visit.
“What... But why?”
Buckley held up a single index finger. “Because... you will look reasonable and you will make yourself a friend to the dierlijt, which will undermine their current distaste for your government.”
“I see sir, is that important? I'm not terribly taken with the beasties myself. We've far more of them in Valendam than most other continental cities, it's downright embarrassing.”
“That's not all this does Guy. Try, for once, to use that tiny little pea you keep between your ears. It also undermines the perception that the Veil Company is behind this government, which I desire.”
“Right,” Guy said, looking down at the table. His hands had migrated up from his lap again and were currently fumbling together so swiftly it looked like they were trying to eat one another on the table.
“Besides... I'll wait a month or so and pay some dierlijt from the Luddite area to burn some Cavlinist homes, maybe bite a few children. That will get them fighting each other. Divide and conquer my friend. Eventually, I plan to lure the worst of them to New Valendam. Let them go squabble over who's the most pious in a land of murderous hostiles.”
“An excellent idea Mr. Buckley,” the Prime Minister said, nodding his head so that his blotchy red jowls flopped up and down.
“Is that it?”
“Hmmm?” Guy asked... “Oh...yes!”
“Then get out of my sight.”
Chapter 13
"The Garwhale is a noble beast, wily and intelligent. That's why they're so hard to kill and it's so lucrative to do so."
-Stig Loken, Kronby whaler, 1543
“I said hold still!” Wilhelm said.
Thira hissed at him, baring her large canine teeth. It was a reflex when in pain. With anyone else, she might consider apologizing, but Wilhelm understood her people. He'd been among them.
Another sharp jolt of pain stabbed her left hand, causing all five claws to extend.
“There, only about fifteen more to go,” Wilhelm said. His right hand held the pair of forceps which he was currently using to grip the end of yet another large splinter. The sight of it might have made her nauseous were she not already so, from the rolling swells that had been causing the boat to move left and right, up and down, for every damned minute since they'd left port.
“How's my little kitten?” Robert asked.
Thira shot him a look of murder.
Wilhelm laughed. “She'll be fine. My eyesight has much improved.”
“I've no doubt,” Robert said. His eyes fixed on hers. “Thank you. Your climbing ability saved this ship. The captain of a ship like mine does not take such things lightly.”
“What are those ships in the distance?” Wilhelm said, nodding to the starboard side where five small blobs could just be seen above the horizon.
Robert smiled. “You weren't kidding, I can barely see them myself.”
“I might be able to see their colors but I noticed you've steered the ship away from them,” Wilhelm said as he yanked another splinter.
Thira hissed again.
“I haven't actually. I set our course to the south with a few degrees east. Just like we'd be going if we were heading to Ardenton,” Robert said, lowering his voice at the end.
“And you haven't deviated from that course?” Wilhelm asked, yanking again.
Thira grimaced.
“No.”
Wilhelm nodded, leaning in toward her paw. “We're getting there Thira.”
“Yes, thank y-” she hissed again as he ripped an extra large one from her smallest finger.
“Then they're keeping tabs on us,” Wilhelm said.
“Aye, they are,” Robert said, nodding. “I suppose it makes sense, blockade and all. If we keep going I'm sure they'll lose interest.”
“How long before we pass the Cape of Calas?” Wilhelm asked.
“Five hours if the wind holds out.”
“And if they're still there then?” Wilhelm asked.
“Then we might have some trouble.”
Wilhelm yanked another chunk of shredded mast from Thira's palm. The pain was so sharp that not only did she hiss but every claw on her hands and feet extended completely.
“I might think you were enjoying yourself,” Robert quipped with a grin.
“I'll kill you,” Thira said. “In seconds.”
“Play nice Thira,” Wilhelm said.
Play nice? The pirate was the one who kept making the innuendos! It was obvious he hadn't forgotten their time together in jail. Well he should, because he would never see her without clothing again!
“Where is your peg-legged companion?” Robert asked.
“Rosa? I've no idea,” Wilhelm said.
“She went below earlier,” Thira replied. “When I was being pulled down from the mast I saw her going back down the ladder.”
“That was a while ago,” Robert said. “Cemu!” he called, turning around.
Cemu was already coming up from below. Behind him were four other crewmen, two holding knives. Rosa was being forcefully held between them.
“We found her below deck captain,” said one man with a
scar along the side of his face. “She was trying to get into the hold through the side lock.”
Wilhelm stood, narrowing his eyes. “Robert, what is the meaning of this? This woman is with me.”
Robert sighed. “Come, all of you, even the pincushion.”
He led them all into his cabin where he poured a large glass of a dark spirit. Thira could smell it from across the table. There were actual windows here that looked out upon the ocean at the back of the ship. A rope of churned water trailed the Scarosian Queen like a bridal veil.
“Sit,” Robert said, taking a swig on his drink.
Wilhelm sat in a chair opposite Robert. Rosa took the seat to his right, still looking upset about being roughly handled. Thira would have stood behind Wilhelm, with her arms crossed as a way to intimidate, but she could barely stand on the rolling ship, so she took the seat to his left.
“Well?” Wilhelm said.
“Yeah, let's have it!” Rosa snapped. “What's hiding in your hold?”
“So... Do you remember the ship I lost... the Caros,” Robert said, holding his glass like he meant to make love to it.
“Yes...” Wilhelm replied. “I remember it all. Your poor parents pushed their way into my audience chamber so they could petition for your freedom and it was all a lie.”
Robert shrugged. “Smuggler's code.”
Wilhelm raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”
“Always lie,” he replied, taking a swig. “My crew had the... thing. They kept it. Not because they are loyal,” he chuckled to himself bitterly, “but because they were afraid of it and not confident enough to sail somewhere it could be sold.”
“What thing? What is down there!” Rosa asked again. “It had better not be slaves.”
Robert laughed. “I've carried many things my dear, but never slaves.”
“So?” Wilhelm. “You plan to sell this thing in Pyrolia?”
“Yes,” he said. “And I offer you and Thira, a contract.”
“Contract? What contract?”
“Hey, not me?” Rosa said.
Thira felt some satisfaction in this. “Perhaps he is not fond of one-legged women,” she said. It was mean, but it felt good.
Rosa glared at her.
“Oh no, it's not that,” Robert said. “I love all women to be honest. No... the contract is because I owe you both. You freed me from the dungeon... and I betrayed you for it. I'd been wanting to wait until we threw those witch hunters overboard but stumpy here had to start snooping around.”
“Wait... throw them over?” Rosa said.
“Yes... they're puritans with their own agenda who are taught as a matter of their faith to use fire on those practicing witchcraft... and we've got... a thing... in our hold that will most assuredly count. I promise you.”
Wilhelm sighed. “You make a good point.”
Rosa frowned at him. “I can't believe you'd say that. You were such a good king!”
“Now you believe I was the king?” he replied.
Rosa shook her head, looking bewildered for a moment. “Dios mio, no, but assume for a moment I did. You are claiming to be a man many loved.”
“And hated,” Robert said, pointing at Wilhelm. “I saw this lovely play once... It was called-”
Wilhelm held up a hand. “That's enough. I agree with Robert though, the witch hunters are a risk, and he's already taken on a lot of risks.”
“You don't just throw men and women overboard!” Rosa said.
“Oh yes,” Robert said. “We do it all the time. Besides, we're not that far from the Calacian coast, they could swim it. If they can swim that is.”
“There is also the fact, Rosa, that it's Robert's ship. He's the captain and on the high seas, the captain has supreme authority,” Wilhelm said, a half-grin creeping up the side of his face.
Rosa's dark eyes bored into him. “I believe, Wilhelm, if that is your real name, that God is the highest authority, and such a man as would order a thing like this... is committing a crime against God.”
Robert rolled his eyes. “Would you two just kiss and get it over with?”
Thira laughed in spite of herself and Robert winked at her. If she didn't still have more than ten splinters remaining in her hands, she might give him a solid smack.
Rosa chuckled uncomfortably. “Yes well... I don't like this idea.”
“I noticed,” Robert said. “However... I already ordered it before I came in here so-”
“Wait... you what?!” Rosa shouted.
“It needed to happen sometime!” Robert said, shrugging. “Besides, your snooping got the crew all worked up, they needed something to do. It's as much your fault as anyone's.”
“It is not!” Rosa snapped.
Thira heard a soft thump. It was odd because it sounded like a cannon, but very far away. Where would there be a cannon out... Oh no. It was followed by a splash, much nearer, perhaps in front of the bow?
“You have another problem,” Thira said.
Robert looked at her, his eyes shrewd, calculating. “I know... you still want to know what's in the hold. I'll tell you... I don't even know what it is. It moves, sometimes it groans, that is all I know.”
“It groans? What is it, some kind of animal?” Rosa asked.
Thira shook her head. “No... that is not the problem,” she said. Outside she heard frantic boots slapping the wood of the deck as they approached the door to the cabin.
“What then?” Robert asked.
The door burst open. It was Cemu, his eyes wide. “Sir, we're being fired upon!”
“We're what?!” Robert asked, slugging the last of his glass with a sharp wince.
“As I said, sir! One of the blockade ships has broken off from the rest. She's closed on us and fired across our bow.”
“Damn!” Robert said. “She means to board us.”
All four of them rushed out of the captain's room into a darkened sky and light sleet, which had already blanketed the deck with a slippery white coating. The swells were getting worse as well, higher, more irregular. Thira was forced to dig her toe claws into the deck, it was the only way she felt she wouldn't be torn away by a stray gust, even though she weighed more than any of the crew.
“What have you done with the... you know,” Robert said as he pulled out his spyglass to eye the other ship.
“The witchmen? We were getting to it,” Cemu replied.
Robert grimaced. “That's not an answer. Do they know what you planned to do?”
“I don't think so. We were getting our clubs and ropes together, but we didn't talk to them yet,” Cemu replied.
“Good, we're going to table that for the time being. One fight at a time,” Robert said.
“What kind of ship?” Wilhelm asked.
“She's a brig, republican,” Robert said, grimacing.
“Fast,” Wilhelm replied.
“If we didn't have that damned thing aboard, we could outrun her easy, not so now.” Robert turned to Cemu, “We're going to make a run of it, full sail.”
“But sir, the storm, it'll rip us up.”
“We have cloth for repairs. We might be able to lose them in the squalls.”
“And if we can't?” Wilhelm asked him.
“Then we outgun them,” Robert said as sleet collected atop his wide-brimmed hat.
“Ha!” Rosa snapped. “Half your guns are wooden props!”
“Aaaaah!” Robert said, his eyes alight with the fire of a sudden realization. “That proves you went straight for the hold when you were snooping below.”
“What do you mean?” Wilhelm asked.
In the distance, Thira was watching the ship approach. It was starting to become large enough to make out more than just a tiny bump along the horizon. She could now separate the mast and white sails from the thick body of the ship. It was sailing right for them. As she watched there was a blue flash, followed almost immediately by the same thumping noise as before, only twice as loud.
This time the splash was right
along the starboard side.
“I mean,” Robert said, a finger along his nose. “That if this woman had been looking at anything other than the lock on our hold, she would have seen the twenty-four-pounders I've got on both sides.”
Wilhelm nodded. “I saw them, they're quite large for a ship this small. Aren't they heavy?”
“New Willen design, they're actually made for goliaths but I found they adapted really well to Arden naval mounts,” Robert said. “After some... trimming. Here and there.”
“How did you have the money for that?” Rosa asked him. “Did you gamble for that too?”
“Oh no... I didn't have the money for it,” he said, pulling up the glass again as he pulled the wheel to the right, turning them toward the enemy ship.
“Shouldn't we tack to port, sir?” Cemu asked.
“I would, except the storm is to our southwest. This is the best wind we've got,” Robert replied.
“Doesn't it make us look bad though?” Rosa replied. “You're both speeding up and turning in the direction they want to prevent.”
Robert nodded, holding the wheel. “Aye, it does.”
* * *
“Wake up!” a man's voice shouted as ice-cold water was thrown over Celia's body.
Her eyes snapped open and she took in her surroundings. She was seated on a chair, hands bound behind her with a coarse rope. It was an office. A high desk covered with paperwork. Behind it, a thin man wearing spectacles. He had a wide blond mustache that stuck out from the sides of his thin face like stalks of wheat. His eyebrows were just as blond, but thick and overgrown so that they hung down across his sharp blue eyes. He did not look happy.
“Do you know where you are girl?” he said. His voice was as crisp and pointed as the ends of his mustache.
Celia looked around. There was a grandfather clock ticking away along the wall. To its right an oversized printed calendar hung on the wall, covered with pencil notes. There were also many paintings hung along the walls, most of them depicting various colors of tulips, but featuring black and violet ones. Besides the sound of the ticking clock, there was a whine of machinery coming from behind her. When she looked back she saw a wooden door with a window of frosted glass and something written on the other side. Probably the name of the mustache man.