Queen of Storms

by Raymond E. Feist

  Harbor boys dropped large fenders—sacks filled with various materials to absorb the shock of the boat nestling against the quayside—and Hatu wondered if they worked for a harbor boss or expected Catharian to pay them a token, or tip as it was sometimes called. If so, they would be sorely disappointed, for in Hatu’s experience Catharian never paid for anything.

  Williem and Bowen tossed lines to the boys on the quayside, who tied off the boat, and two others ran forward, perhaps expecting cargo to be offloaded. Hatu concluded that everyone here worked for whatever they could get, as no one official looking was presenting himself. A crowd gathered, probably to see who had arrived and to break up the monotony of what passed for a day’s work in this island community.

  It was a lovely day with clear skies and a nice breeze cutting the heat. Behind the buildings of this small community, Hatu saw the mountains rising a short distance away. Denbe came up to him and said, “Wait here.” The burly fighter leapt down from the gunwale to the quay. To Hatu’s surprise, he produced a belt pouch and tipped the boys who’d made the boat fast.

  Then Catharian and Sabella approached, and the false monk said, “We shall be parting company for a while, Hatu. Sabella and I have other duties, but we shall see you again, I’m certain.”

  Hatu saw the young woman smile slightly. She nodded but said nothing as she also jumped down unaided to the quay where Denbe waited.

  “So do I simply wait here?” Hatu asked.

  “No, there is someone you need to speak with, and he should be here any moment.” Catharian motioned for Hatu to follow and hopped down from the gunwale, Hatu disembarking a moment later.

  The crowd began to disperse when it was evident there was no cargo to unload, hence no coin to be earned, and as they drifted away Hatu felt a moment of cold panic stab his stomach as a familiar figure came through the crowd.

  “Here at last,” said Master Bodai. “We have a great deal to discuss.”

  He motioned for Hatushaly to follow him, but it took a slight push by Catharian to send him stumbling after the member of the Council of Masters of Coaltachin.

  16

  Revelations and Secrets

  Hava worked her way through the maze of cargo that had been stored on the mid-deck of the ship. She was half blind from inspecting crates, chests, bags, and heaps of goods covered in canvas lashed to the deck, but the amount of wealth she had discovered had her head spinning with ideas.

  Sabien followed closely, taking his responsibility to guard Hava seriously. She didn’t mind his instant loyalty, though she wasn’t convinced it was fueled by gratitude and thought it might eventually fade.

  She said, “Even sold to the most corrupt fence I’ve ever met, this booty is worth more than I can imagine.”

  Sabien shrugged. “I don’t know its worth, Captain.”

  Hava was getting used to the title and the authority it carried. She said, “I traveled a great deal from a very young age. I’ve been in countless bazaars and shops, seen all manner of goods bought and sold.” She reached over and picked up a plate made of silver, polished just before Port Colos was sacked by the look of it. “This cost more than a mason earns in a year, I’ll wager.”

  “A master mason?” asked the young man.

  She nodded. “There’s both silver and gold and jewelry mixed in with other cargo. Weapons in a chest back there.” She turned her head and indicated a distant corner of the hold with her chin.

  Sabien’s expression showed his confusion. “I have never seen anything like this before.”

  “Neither have I,” said Hava. “This ship was loaded with the pick of the plunder of Port Colos and with slaves . . .” She let the thought trail off. “That may be why one of the sicari stayed aboard.”

  “Sicari?”

  “That warrior in black we kicked to death.” Again she surveyed all the wealth assembled on this deck, then said, “Follow me.”

  Sabien followed Hava as she climbed the stairs in the companionway to the upper deck. George was at the helm with another man, a former prisoner, at the wheel. Hava had instructed George and the other sailors to train any fit man or woman who wanted to crew. Most apparently did, and Hava now counted more than one hundred people who were willing to sail with her.

  She worked her way through those sitting forward in the ship, and as she neared the bow she spied a familiar face. “Molly!” Hava had been so preoccupied with the duties of commanding a ship that she had neglected to look for her friend.

  Molly Bowman lay either unconscious or asleep next to two other women and a man who said, “She’s been out since we boarded.”

  Hava said, “I was hit on the head and knocked from my horse, and after that I don’t remember anything.”

  “She’s been awake,” said one of the women, “but she was rambling in her talk and passed out again quickly.”

  “What’s your name?” Hava asked the woman who had spoken.

  “Betsy.”

  “Look after her, and if she regains her wits let me know, will you?”

  Betsy nodded, and Hava moved away. She was relieved that Molly was on the ship but concerned about her condition.

  She returned to the afterdeck, motioned Sabien away and George to come to her. When they were out of earshot of anyone else, she asked him, “Do you know what’s in the hold below us?”

  He smiled and nodded. “I oversaw it being loaded. It’s why I was not unhappy at your taking charge.” He glanced around. “Most of the lads who are still here know a bit about the booty. The captain and those black-clad fellows had me rotate the loading so most of what the men saw was crates and boxes, sacks and the like, but these men aren’t children; they’ve been at sea most of their lives.”

  “Where were you supposed to take it?”

  George said, “I’m not sure. Captain George knew but never told me.”

  “I killed him a little too soon,” said Hava dryly.

  “None too soon for me,” said George. “He was a pig, and I’m sorry I had to share a name with him.”

  “If you were to guess your original destination, where would that be?”

  George let out a frustrated sigh. “One of the Border Ports, certainly, but I’m only guessing which one; it’s where we were supposed to go.”

  “Border Ports?”

  “What do you know of the Anoke Sea?”

  “We’re sailing on it,” said Hava patiently.

  “Do you know what is west of us?”

  “A continent called Alastor?”

  He nodded. “That’s due west from here. It’s not really a continent but a series of three really large islands, surrounded by dozens of smaller ones, and who knows how many tiny ones. But if you sail around the southern tip of Alastor, or between the lower two islands, to the other side of Garn, you come to . . .” George halted as if to gather his thoughts. “Well, that’s the thing; those of us who live on this side of Garn don’t really know what’s on the other side of the world. It’s a secret place and rumors abound about it—there are always rumors—and a few people claim to know more, but then people claim to know all sorts of things they don’t really know about, don’t they?”

  Hava was tiring of the circuitous answer and said, “Border Ports?”

  George continued to think for another moment. “Imagine a line . . . a line in the water, in the wind, from somewhere in the remote north, and that line passes through a string of islands west of here, to another distant point far to the south. If you are from this side of that line, you may not pass over to the other side.”

  “A border,” said Hava.

  George nodded. “And there are ports on those islands. Ships like this may offload, refit, stock up cargo, or whatever they need to do, but they may not sail any farther west.”

  “What happens if they try?” asked Hava.

  “No one knows, as no one who has tried has returned.” George glanced at the sails, then ahead to check his bearings, then added, “Or if anyone has, they don’t t
alk about it. Lots of rumors, as I said, of course, and plenty of wild claims.”

  “Such as?”

  “Those killers in black, they’re the only ones who travel freely on both sides. Sometimes people claim to have overheard this or that when they talk. There are a lot of people who think there may be some large kingdom that is hiding itself from the rest of Garn.” He raised his eyebrows. “But why would anyone do that? I suppose the answer to that is anyone’s guess. Most places I’ve been, good and bad, well, they like to trade, make a bit of profit here, buy something rare there, and so it goes.”

  Hava nodded. “Seems that way to me, too.”

  “So the rumor is that this place is bigger than all the other nations of the world put together, which makes it being kept secret even less likely. But a smaller land that’s maybe very rich, that would make sense. Their wealth would buy a lot of secrecy, if you see my meaning.”

  “I do,” said Hava. She considered for a moment. “Speaking of wealth, if we weren’t due at a given port, where would you want to offload the booty below?”

  “That’s tricky,” said George with a smile. “A ship carrying this much booty without the protection of those black thugs is a rich prize.”

  Hava looked around. “With a fair number of people willing to fight.”

  “That is true,” said George. “That may keep the small island boats away if they have their wits about them, and most do. You meet live pirates, and you meet stupid pirates, but not a lot of live stupid pirates, as the old saying goes.”

  “I’ve heard similar,” said Hava, realizing she’d heard the same saying about student assassins: smart or dead were the two choices. “So back to fencing this loot. Where do you think we should try?”

  “There are the Border Ports and a few smaller ones. The Border Ports have advantages, as a lot of trading goes on there. The men wearing black—”

  “Sicari,” interrupted Hava.

  He nodded. “These sicari don’t care what crosses the Border, except people, so there’s really not much in the way of smuggling. I have no notion of what may be required to reach a port on the other side of the line, but I have a fair idea of where to go back there.” With an inclination of his head, he indicated the course back to the twin continents. “All the trading with those from the other side of the Border is handled by merchants who live in the ports.”

  “All right,” said Hava. “So if the merchants don’t go east or west but stay put, only those sicari travel where no one else can go.” An odd thought was forming, tickling at the edge of her mind, an idea not quite ready to clarify itself. She knew it would nag at her until she finally understood what it was but put it aside and turned her attention to more immediate concerns. “So we need a port that can handle some of this loot, then travel to another to sell some more. Not calling too much attention to ourselves in any one place.”

  “Smart,” said George. “If we get too much attention and word gets out, we’ll have to watch out for big raiders. The small island pirates, those with the fast little boats, they won’t come after a big ship like this unless we get too close to one of their bases. I know how to get to the Border Ports without doing that. You get too close to where they live and they’ll swarm over you like wasps.

  “But the ships that are as big as this, but built for fighting, can have a crew of a hundred or more, and they’d take a ship like ours without hesitation. They’re faster than we are, and unless we get lucky, we’ll get taken.” He glanced around. “Mind you, if they see this many fighters on the deck, they may veer off—more trouble than it’s worth—unless they know we have most of a city’s wealth below. Then they’d come after us for sure. Probably bringing some friends.”

  “Pirates work together?”

  “Sometimes a captain joins with another or even two, and they go plundering together. Can last awhile if the captains don’t get to squabbling. Most of the time it’s just for a raid or two, though.”

  Hava looked hard at George. “I’ve been around a lot and, truth to tell, you don’t strike me as a typical pirate, thief, or cutthroat, George.”

  “Thanks, I think, Captain. I’ve been a seaman long enough to know a few things. A pirate captain has to be a navigator and pilot—lots of these island routes can be treacherous—so I learned from my pa. I tried the honest trades for a while, but I’ve a weakness for gambling and fell in with some bad people. I got in debt and had to work to pay it off, and the man who I owed, well, he sold my service to Captain George. If you hadn’t killed him . . .” He shrugged. “Maybe in a year or two he’d have counted my debt paid.” He sighed and gave a rueful smile. “Probably not.”

  Hava smiled and echoed, “Probably not. I know how that debt game plays: you get charged for food and whatever, and you never quite get free of the obligation.” She looked around the deck and saw most of those from below had taken to staying outside while the weather was good. Few had returned to the slave deck to rest. “I’ll make you this promise, George. Once I get this cargo sold and those who don’t wish to come with me offloaded, you’re free of your debt. You can stay or go as you please.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” he said, looking astonished.

  “If you stay, when we part you’ll either be dead or wealthy.”

  George laughed with genuine amusement. “We’re all going to die sooner or later, that’s a fact. So I might as well try for wealthy before then!”

  Hava nodded. She returned to where Molly lay and saw that she hadn’t moved. She wished there was a proper healer aboard, but none had appeared when the severely wounded had been brought up on deck.

  Hava saw people looking at her as she walked by and felt eyes on her from behind. She adopted a confident posture and smile as she moved back to the stern of the ship, wishing she were as confident of what she was doing as she pretended. Because she was relying on guesswork and intuition: she was going after Hatu with no idea of where he might be. But she’d be damned before she’d let these people know how uncertain she was inside.

  Hatu sat across from Master Bodai at a small table, just outside the door of some sort of inn that was unlike any inn Hatu had seen in his travels. There was an open counter in the wall behind him, and people came and went, ordering food they carried off and providing their own cups and mugs to be filled with fruit juices or ale.

  Master Bodai had told Hatu to follow him from the ship, along the waterfront, and to this table, which was flanked by two large, well-armed men who were clearly guards working for Bodai, although no words had passed between them. Bodai was silent as food and drink were placed on the table between him and Hatu. On the plate were two odd-looking items: something folded inside what appeared to be wrapped flattened bread. Rolled dough, Hatu decided, picking one up, having worked enough in his inn’s kitchen to form a judgment. It had somehow been crisped, and it was hotter than he had expected, so he put it down again.

  Bodai said, “Let it cool a bit longer so you don’t burn your mouth.”

  “What are they?”

  “Delicious,” said the Coaltachin master.

  Which didn’t really answer Hatu’s question. He waited, then finally asked, “Why are you here, with these people?”

  Bodai let out a long sigh, as if releasing pent-up tension. “I am these people, Hatushaly. One of several tasked with ensuring you stayed alive while being trained by some of the harshest teachers in the world.

  “The Flame Guard is an old and once very powerful order. They had agents like me secreted throughout all of Garn, or at least the parts of it you would recognize.”

  With a wave of his hand, Bodai indicated that whatever the food on the plate was, it was ready to eat. Taking hold of one, Hatu saw that the wrapping was folded over the top and he started to pick at it, but Bodai said, “No, leave it closed. Just eat it as it is.” He demonstrated by picking his up and taking a large bite. Hatu saw juice start to drip out the sides, and Bodai wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he closed his eyes fo
r a moment as if savoring the food. He chewed contentedly for a long time, then continued. “As I said, the parts of the world you would recognize: there are parts of it you wouldn’t.”

  Hatu was perplexed by this statement but decided to concentrate on the food, and he was delighted to be greeted by a savory concoction of what he took to be diced chicken, spices, a hint of tomato, some kind of pepper, and other flavors he couldn’t identify but found delicious. The flatbread wrapping the filling had been fried and crunched between his teeth. He suddenly realized just how hungry he was.

  He chewed, swallowed, then reached for his cup and was surprised to find that it contained a sort of wine diluted with a mixture of fruit juices, unexpectedly sweet, but a perfect complement to the food. Taking a breath, he asked, “What is this?” holding up the wrap.

  “In the language of the people who created this delicacy, it’s called ‘little donkey.’” Bodai shrugged. “I have no idea why and probably never will; I’m just satisfied to have discovered it here on this lovely island.”

  Hatu looked around and then took another bite. “Where are we?” he asked.

  “The island is called Elsobas,” Bodai replied. “This small establishment is called a café, open only to feed passersby.”

  “So an inn without rooms,” replied Hatu. “A kind of tavern?”

  “A little less ale and . . . well, it’s a café. The weather here is salubrious year-round, and people eat outside unless it’s raining. Actually, even if it’s raining and it’s light, they still eat outside. Should I live long enough to retire, I can think of worse places to live.”

  “Retire?” asked Hatu.