Chapter 8. Reprimand
The grishnards think they are the dominant species on Wefrivain. They are wrong. One need only look in the Temple on every island to find the true dominant species.
—Gwain, The Truth About Wyverns
“The gods have informed me that I had better do something with my officers before they kill each other.” Morchella spoke without amusement from her throne. “Explain yourselves!”
Gerard bowed his head. He’d never in his life expected to ride a wyvern, had certainly not expected to be picked up like a mouse from a field and flown away. He felt a little shaken, but the rage that had driven him onto the deck of the Fang was still burning in his chest. He stabbed a finger at Silveo. “Admiral Lamire picked up my prisoners without my consent or knowledge. He tortured and killed shelts whom I promised freedom in exchange for information. I gave my word.”
“A shelt,” grated Silveo. He was wearing an absurd yellow hat with a lavender plume large enough to choke an elephant seal. Gerard noted perversely that his earrings alone looked heavy enough to drown him, should he somehow fall into the sea. “You will be pleased to learn that the grasshopper escaped.”
Gerard felt a measure of relief. “Grasshopper” was uncomplimentary slang for gazumelle, who had unusual jumping abilities.
“He released them,” Silveo continued, addressing the Priestess. “I picked up a faun off the street who seemed likely to provide me with information. The Police appeared to have finished with him. It has never been Police policy to let traitors escape. I have killed several ‘released’ shelts for other Police captains.” By the end, he was almost pleading.
Gerard glanced sideways at him. It was strange to see Silveo neither laughing nor sneering.
Morchella steepled her long fingers before her face. “We are getting off the point. The gods inform me that you threw a knife at my officer.”
Silveo dropped his gaze. “I might have.”
“Admiral Lamire, perhaps you are unfamiliar with my policy on such things, as we have not had this problem before. Let me enlighten you. As my admiral, you are free to discipline shelts whom you appoint and administer. If you find them insubordinate or incompetent, you are free to execute them. However, you are not free to either discipline or execute officers whom I appoint and administer. The Police fall into this category. If you kill one of my officers, you will lose more than your station. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“And you.” She turned to Gerard. “I am told that you arrived on the Fang and drew a sword on your superior officer. Is that correct?”
“It is,” said Gerard. He drew a deep breath. Silveo’s explanation made more sense than he had expected. The smuggler was right; I am new at this. “But,” he continued, “it wasn’t the sword that provoked the incident. It was what I said.” He turned to Silveo. “I apologize for my…comment. It was dishonorable and insubordinate.”
Silveo shot him an expression of loathing, conveying the general sentiment that the only apology he would accept from Gerard was one written in arterial blood.
“However,” continued Gerard to Morchella, “my point stands: any organization which you put in my care will be not only feared, but respected. How can the Police be respected if they fail to keep their promises? How can I bargain or parley with an enemy if I am considered untrustworthy, if every shelt I release is killed in an alley?”
“Bargain with them?” echoed Morchella. “A curious notion. The Admiral is right about the traditional treatment of prisoners by the Police. Those who escape warn their comrades of what they’ve seen, heard, and told. For this reason, they are not normally allowed to leave alive. However, I trust your judgment enough to let you play out this experiment. In the future, your wishes will be honored, so far as they pertain to the province of the Police.”
And there’s the problem, thought Gerard, because the province of the Police and the Sea Watch overlap.
Silveo was glaring down at his bright yellow boots. Morchella rose and walked down from her dais to stand between them. “My fox and my lion…you will compliment each other’s strengths if you will only work together.”
Her voice grew harder as she turned to Silveo. “In the future, if you have a problem with one of my officers, you will bring it to me. Now go back to your ship.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Gerard expected to be dismissed as well, but she spoke before he could move. “Stay a moment, Captain.” When Silveo was gone, she continued, “How do you find your new command?”
Gerard hesitated. “I hardly know how to answer that yet, Mistress. I have had less than two days with them.”
“I told you on your last visit that you have permission to use my name.”
He inclined his head stiffly. She was standing very close, and Gerard wished suddenly that Silveo were back in the room. He caught a faint scent of salt and sandalwood. Was it only incense, or was it her perfume?
“If I have put you in an untenable situation, you may tell me so,” she continued. “I have other positions to fill with capable shelts. You may serve me elsewhere.”
Gerard felt his fur bristle uncomfortably against his clothes. “I do not quit that easily, Mistress Morchella. It is true that the Police are in a pitiful state. They have been leaderless for a red month, and it does not seem to me that they have had firm leadership for some time before that. Their captains have been yearly assassinated, as have many of their officers. They are hated by the citizenry of Wefrivain, both grishnard and non-grishnard. They are distrusted. In addition, I find it difficult to work with Admiral Lamire. This is my own problem, and I will deal with it.”
Morchella nodded. “I’m sure you will. However, the Police will never be a gentle organization. This would undermine their function. Can you do what I’m asking, Gerard? If you can’t, now is the time to tell me.”
“You mean, can I torture and kill if necessary?”
Her aquamarine eyes bored into him. “Can you? Will your honor let you?”
“I can.” Firebird forgive me. “I can be cruel when I must, but not to no purpose.” He told her about his treatment of the prisoners, the reasons he had killed the leaders at once, the things that the youngster and the smuggler had told him.
Morchella folded her arms. She thought for a moment. “You’ve impressed me. This is unconventional behavior for the Police. I have no doubt that torturing the prisoners would have produced more information, but not of the same quality. I think you’re right: what they told you is probably true and the best they had to tell.”
Feeling a little bolder, Gerard said, “I’m certain that youngster knew no more than he told me. The smuggler, on the other hand, was an unscrupulous bastard—”
“Exactly the sort of morals desirable in an informer,” interrupted Morchella.
Gerard shrugged. “Perhaps. However, he was the sort of faun who would highly resent being made to die for a cause. I would treat any information he gave under duress as suspicious.”
Morchella nodded. “You have a point. Please present it to Admiral Lamire when you sail with him to Sern.” She watched Gerard grimace. “You were planning on going with him, weren’t you?”
Gerard said nothing.
“The Police have no ships,” said Morchella softly. “The Sea Watch administers the ships. A journey to Maijha Minor or any other place you wish to investigate must to be coordinated with the Sea Watch. I expect you to work together.”
Gerard shut his eyes. He had not thought that far ahead. He felt suddenly tired.
“Try to get along with Silveo,” said Morchella. “I realize that you find him distasteful, but he has his uses. Learn to exploit them. Silveo can be made to do almost anything once you know how to steer him. You, on the other hand, are a delightful enigma.” And she leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him. Gerard thought for one panicked moment that she was going to kiss him on the mouth, but she only touched her lips to his forehead in a vaguely maternal ge
sture.
Then she brought her lips down to his ear in a way that was not maternal at all, tickling his skin with her breath. “Now, you need to go home and love your minstrel girl and sleep. You lost your temper this evening because you are exhausted. Go home, Gerard. I’ll be watching over you.”
The Guild of the Cowry Catchers, Book 1: Embers Page 9