The Cartographer Complete Series

by A. C. Cobble

Oliver nodded, and the commander started to pour.

  “M’lady,” he said, pausing. “Shall I call for wine, water… anything that I can provide you?”

  “I’d like a real drink, Commander,” replied Sam. “I’m not a lady.”

  “She’s with the Church, a priestess,” explained Oliver again. “Apparently they’re allowed to drink.”

  “We don’t get many representatives from the Church out here,” remarked Ostrander, finishing his pour and passing out glasses. “Come, let’s sit outside and see if we can catch an early evening breeze.”

  Oliver followed the man out, taking advantage of the commander’s turned back to adjust the neck of his shirt, trying to get some air across his sweating body.

  “How did you find the governor?” asked Ostrander, leaning against the railing of his porch and sipping his drink.

  “We had bad news for him, I’m afraid,” replied Oliver. “I’m not sure if that’s what upset him or if it was something else. To be honest, Commander, he did not have kind words about you.”

  “He wants me to chase after these pirates of his,” responded Ostrander, “though why he’s so eager now when he wouldn’t hear a word of the threat a month ago, I cannot tell you.”

  “I was told they’ve taken some prizes,” said Oliver. “Archtan Atoll enjoys the protection of the Crown. Why haven’t you hunted these raiders down?”

  “They’ve taken some prizes and some prisoners,” explained the commander. “They’ve been operating for, oh, a year and a half now, but the governor didn’t show a bit of interest before. It wasn’t until three weeks ago that suddenly, he calls me in one morning and demands I take care of it.”

  “Take care of it?” asked Oliver.

  “Governor Dalyrimple has requested that we find the lair of the corsairs and proceed to bomb it until there’s nothing left,” said Ostrander. “The buildings burned to ash, the sand blasted until it melts to glass, that sort of destruction. I’ve resisted, stating that until we know the disposition of the crews of those captured ships, it’s irresponsible to make such a rash attack. The prizes weren’t Company or Crown vessels, just local traders and two down from the Vendatt Islands under the flag of the United Territories. You’re right, Archtan Atoll is under the Crown and my men’s protection, but these ships were not. Of course we have a responsibility to maintain order in the region, but without knowing the condition of the hostages, I’ve been hesitant to act. You can imagine the uproar we’d hear from the United Territories if it turned out we destroyed the corsair’s lair along with dozens of their people. Until either a citizen of Enhover is under direct threat or we know the condition of potential hostages, I cannot attack, m’lord.”

  Oliver frowned, sipping at his drink.

  “For over a year, I asked Governor Dalyrimple to parlay with the pirates, to gather intelligence on their motives, operations, and the fate of the hostages. With that information, I’d have no hesitation about forming a plan of attack. Without it…”

  “If the corsairs took men as part of their prize, then surely there’s been a demand for ransom,” mused the duke. “What has Governor de Bussy said? Has Finavia had any demands in exchange for her people?”

  Commander Ostrander shrugged. “Governor Dalyrimple has refused to contact de Bussy, and as a commander in the marines, it’s out of my scope to treat directly with a foreign power. Dalyrimple says if there’s been no contact between the corsairs and de Bussy, it will make us look weak and encourage the Finavians to conduct their own privateering in these seas.”

  Oliver frowned. “Have you contacted Admiral Brach? What is his opinion on this?”

  “I’ve sent messages but had no response,” claimed Commander Ostrander.

  “For how long?” wondered Oliver.

  “Several months,” said Ostrander. “I first wrote three, maybe four months ago.”

  “That doesn’t—”

  “The men have six-month deployments,” interjected Ostrander. “I’m stationed here indefinitely, but the men turn over every six months. It’s only then that a fresh ship from the royal fleet arrives. Until then, all of our correspondence is handled by Company ships and Company men.”

  Oliver blinked. “Are you suggesting that the Company declined to deliver your message?”

  The commander tossed back his drink. “All I am saying, m’lord, is that I have not gotten a response from Admiral Brach.”

  “But… why would anyone from the Company want to interfere with your communications?”

  “The governor has refused to allow military involvement in negotiations with the pirates,” answered Ostrander. “What discussions has he had? I don’t know. All I know is that the sudden pressure to simply locate and obliterate the corsair’s stronghold feels wrong to me, m’lord, and Governor Dalyrimple will offer no explanation on why he abruptly changed from disinterested to bloodthirsty. We could do it, sure enough, but why would we not gather information first? We’ve already waited a year. What’s another week or two?”

  “Are you prepared to act if you were assured no hostages are in danger?” asked Oliver. “Are your men ready for action?”

  “If you’re the one who gives us assurance, we’re ready,” replied Commander Ostrander. “I welcome the involvement of a higher authority, from both Crown and Company. Truth, m’lord, it is good to see you here.”

  “Commander, I’m no higher up in the Company than the governor,” reminded Oliver, “and this is still a Company colony under Company administration.”

  “No higher than the governor? Perhaps you should be.”

  “You don’t need to flatter me, Ostrander,” chided Oliver.

  “I meant…” mumbled the commander before trailing off. He raised his glass then saw it was empty and lowered it. “It’s not my place to say, m’lord, but Archtan Atoll is my home. My wife and children are here. I don’t have a financial stake like a Company officer would, but I have a personal one in how well this colony is run.”

  “Ah,” said Oliver. “I understand.”

  “You can call it however you like on the leadership of the Company’s administration, m’lord,” added Commander Ostrander, “but when it comes to the royal marines, we answer to the king and his agents. We’ll do whatever you ask, Duke Wellesley.”

  Oliver finished his drink without replying and looked out over the town below. From the commander’s veranda, the entire settlement spread out below them. Only the governor’s mansion, the local Company House where the factors did their business and made their homes, and the barracks sat behind them.

  A gentle breeze blew off sea, bringing with it the heavy scent of saltwater, the cauldron of spices from the market, cooking foods from the taverns, fresh-cut wood from the shipworks, and the verdant vegetation from everywhere else. Oliver breathed in deep of the heady aroma.

  Atop the stone walls that surrounded the mansion and the barracks, marines walked on patrol. Down below the walls, people were scurrying about their last errands before complete darkness fell. The sounds from the shipworks were fading, and he could see a steady stream of laborers walking along the hard, sandy road from there into the town. The harbor was still busy, and it would remain so most of the night, preparing for the change in tide. In town, lights were flaring to life, and music and the sounds of revelry were starting up in dozens of taverns. All was peaceful, normal life in the tropics.

  “We should go,” said Oliver, turning and looking back into the commander’s office.

  His imagination traced back through that wood and stone, across the open courtyard, to where the governor’s mansion sat — the former home of Countess Dalyrimple, the source of this mystery. None of it was any clearer to him now, even after he’d sat there and had looked the governor in the eye.

  “M’lord,” asked Commander Ostrander, “you said you had bad news for the governor. What was it?”

  “His wife is dead,” answered Oliver. “Did you know anything was amiss?”

  Commander Ostrande
r rolled his glass between his hands, looking at his feet. “I will be honest, m’lord. I had little social interaction with the governor, his wife, or their daughter. They keep to themselves in the mansion. How… how did you know she was dead, m’lord?”

  Oliver stared at the man. “She died in Enhover.”

  “Enhover?” exclaimed the commander. “What was she doing in Enhover?”

  “You didn’t know she was gone?” asked Oliver.

  Ostrander shook his head.

  “I don’t know, Commander,” he replied, finally. “I don’t know what she was doing in Enhover.”

  When they returned to the governor’s mansion, Dalyrimple’s chief of staff informed them the governor had retired for the night to grieve for his wife. Hiding his doubts, Oliver had allowed the man to settle them into rooms and had begged off an audience with a variety of people who had heard a member of the royal line, and a senior Company official, was in town.

  “Why didn’t you agree to meet with anyone?” asked Sam over a quiet dinner with just the two of them. “You don’t think another opinion on what is going on in this place is warranted?”

  “You’re right,” agreed Oliver, setting down his fork. “We need more information, but I need time to think before we delve any deeper into this.”

  “Think about what?” asked Sam, taking a bite.

  “We came here with the plan to inform the governor about his wife’s passing and to investigate any ties she had to sorcery.”

  Sam nodded, chewing a mouthful. “Is this goat meat, do you think?”

  “I didn’t see any goats. Did you?”

  She swallowed slowly, frowning at him.

  Oliver continued, “Why is the governor acting so strange? I had thought he might be the one to answer our questions, but now I realize that’s not the case. He’s the one we need to ask questions about. Whatever his wife was involved in, I am certain now he is involved, too. I don’t believe for a moment that she fled to Enhover for fear of these corsairs. If he is lying about that…”

  “Isn’t that even more reason to talk to others around the man?” questioned Sam. “Someone has to know what the governor is up to.”

  “It is good reason,” agreed Oliver, “but we cannot act on rumor or speculation. If the governor is involved in sorcery, I will need to remove him from power and not just that. Recall that sorcery is illegal by both Church and Crown law. We’ll have to execute the man, Sam. We need hard proof before even a rumor of this leaks out.”

  Sam nodded slowly.

  “And there’s the matter of the pirates to deal with,” reminded Oliver. “It seems clear there are pirates, but what is to be done about them? And why hasn’t it already been done?”

  “Could Commander Ostrander handle that?” questioned Sam. “He seems a capable sort.”

  Oliver snorted. “Now that I am here, the man will defer to me. A military man of his rank understands one thing most clearly, and that is keeping the king happy. He already knows he’s stuck in the bramble bush because of his disagreement with the governor. His allegations that the Company has not delivered his messages could not be any more serious if true, and he wouldn’t have mentioned it if he didn’t believe it to be true. He’ll see only one way out, and that’s on my coattails. If I make the decisions, he’s protected.”

  “If there’s sorcery afoot, and the Company is somehow involved…” Sam trailed off, her fork held in her fist, poised as if she meant to use it on something other than her meat.

  “Then we should proceed with caution,” replied Oliver. “Right now, the issue with the corsairs is public knowledge, and everyone will expect me to address it. Our investigation into Countess Dalyrimple’s death and the clues that led us here are not public knowledge. I suggest we split up, and each of us pursues the different inquiries. I can handle the political and military tangle around these pirates, and you can look into the dark magic. Sound fair?”

  Sam nodded. “It sounds fair.”

  “Every evening,” added Oliver, “we compare notes, just the two of us. That way, we stay informed in case these investigations collide. We’ll watch each other’s backs as much as we’re able.”

  “Is that just an excuse to dine with me each night?” asked Sam, sitting back with a grin on her face.

  Oliver rolled his eyes.

  “It’s a good plan,” admitted Sam. “The best I think we have, at least.”

  “Good,” said Oliver. “For now, we both need some rest. We’re going to have a long couple of days ahead of us.”

  The Priestess VII

  The next morning, Sam leaned against Archtan Town’s battlements, looking out at the levitating islands in the distance. That early, they were lit by the sun coming up behind her, painting the mammoth rock formations in dazzling pastels. They drifted peacefully above the water, uncaring about the trials of sorcerers or men.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?” asked a voice.

  She turned and saw a blue-coated soldier leaning against the battlement beside her.

  “Sorry if I surprised you,” he drawled. “Saw you standing here, and I couldn’t help but come offer you a good morning. The only thing more beautiful than this sunrise, I told my partner.”

  She looked around him and saw another soldier pretending not to watch, but in the space of a dozen heartbeats, she saw him glance over twice.

  “You’re new in Archtan Town?” asked the soldier. Without waiting for a response, he continued, “Everyone does it on their first day. Comes up here and looks over the water at the floating islands. Historians, poets, merchants, even lords and ladies. I’ve spoken to them all up here on these walls. Prettiest place in the empire, they’ve told me. And if you think it’s a sight now, you should see it at sunset. It’s something you’ll be able to tell your kids and husband about, ma’am. That is, if you got ‘em…”

  “I don’t,” murmured Sam, turning from the man and looking through the crenellation at the hanging spires of stone.

  “Well then,” said the soldier. He shuffled a little closer. “How did you end up out here in the tropics?”

  “A lord who was supporting me kicked me off his ship,” she claimed. “I got a little bit of, ah, you know, sores. Normal sort of thing, right? But he didn’t like it one bit. Tossed me on the docks. Told me to get myself straightened out before I saw him again.”

  “Sores?” asked the soldier, pushing off the battlement and standing straight.

  “Not the kind of thing I fancy telling the town physician about,” she replied. “Word like that gets around and follows you. Sooner or later, I’m going to need myself another man, you know? I don’t suppose you know of anyone… anyone discreet?”

  “What, ah…”

  “Maybe your friend does,” she suggested. “Perhaps I should go talk to him.”

  “No, ah, no…” stammered the soldier.

  “I’d be grateful if you can help me,” offered Sam, stepping toward the soldier. “Maybe after I’ve had a chance to heal, you could show me around town a little? There aren’t a lot of women in this place, are there? I need someone to be my friend, and you need… What do you need?”

  The soldier shifted his weight. “A friend, huh?”

  Sam batted her eyelashes at him and bit her bottom lip suggestively. “I’m very kind to my friends.”

  “I’ve heard there’s a woman that the local girls use named Madam Winrod,” he said, his voice cracking. “The men, too, I guess. I’ve never seen her, though. She doesn’t have a place in town, but if you travel to the other side of the island, there’s a little base there. They harvest coffee beans on the other side, and there is a pier where they load the beans into the ketches. They carry the stuff here to the proper harbor for transport in the big cogs. There’s a village beside the pier, a couple of taverns. I don’t think it has a real name, but everyone knows about it. The girls go there when they… they need help with that sort of thing. Ask for a ride to the coffee pier and then look for Madam Winrod. Some
one’ll direct you to her.”

  “Thank you,” said Sam, smiling.

  “You, ah, you need help getting a ride over? It’s too far to walk. Maybe I could—”

  “I’ll find a ride,” she assured him, and she started down the wall toward the nearest stairwell.

  “Where can I find you?” he called after her.

  “Around.”

  Four hours later, after checking in with Commander Ostrander, she sat at the bow of a small sailing skiff. The little craft knifed through the gentle chop that surrounded Archtan Atoll just outside of the breakers. She found herself smiling, the wind in her face, the salt spray kissing her cheeks.

  Behind her, two royal marines manned the tiller and the sail. They’d been pressed into service providing her transport around the island and had gone from elated at the prospect of showing the new priestess around to dejected when they learned she’d arrived with Duke Oliver Wellesley. Before long, she thought half the world would assume she was his paramour. More his problem than hers, though, particularly if her little story from that morning spread around.

  When they returned to Westundon, she would retreat into quiet obscurity, flitting between her apartment and the grounds of the Church, and he’d still be the son of the king. Her smile grew wider as she pictured him trying to explain rumors of a diseased paramour with sores to the twin baronesses.

  The trip to the coffee bean landing took only two hours over the water, but she saw the soldier from the wall had been right. Across land, it would have taken forever to hack through the dense jungle. In some places, there were inviting beaches, but just as often, the jungle met the sea at the waterline, falling from a steep, vegetation-covered cliff. There was no easy travel on Archtan Atoll, except on the water or where the jungle had been tunneled through by man, and effort was made to keep it constantly clear.

  “Up there, m’lady,” called one of the marines.

  She didn’t correct the man. One, because it was getting tiresome. And two, she found she liked the way men would snap to attention when they believed her to be a noblewoman.