The Perils of Archipelago

by B A Simmons

  “You killed them all?!” Pete said a little surprised.

  “Well, yes. No need to carry more prisoners than we can care for. Plus, we had expected you to capture the ship, not set fire to her.”

  “We didn’t. They did. I expect it was their captain, as the blaze started from his cabin. We took nine prisoners, but none of them officers. Cap’n Tim was wounded, and you lost two men.”

  “Hollings and Yardley,” Sergeant Baker added.

  Edward nodded in stern reply to the names. “We lost none here on land, only a few minor wounds. We took them by surprise; it wasn’t much of a battle.”

  The three men stood for a while in silence. The victory seemed empty, and they all felt it. Wallace came forward and asked to go aboard the ships to help treat the wounded and was interrupted by a man running full tilt at Edward.

  “Sir! Sir!” he said. Edward recognized him as one of those left with Joshua atop the peak. “Ent none of you looking up ever?!”

  “Make your report, soldier!” Edward ordered.

  “There’s two more ships comin’ down from the north. Three, mebbe four hours out. Both got falcons on their sails.”

  “Damitall,” Pete grunted. Edward let off a curse of his own. They looked at each other and understood what was needed.

  Edward turned back to the soldier. “Get back up there and tell Joshua to bring everyone down. All the gear, everything. Sergeant Baker, let’s start loading the men and equipment here onto those launches. Get everyone back to the ships sooner than later.”

  The men responded immediately. Even as winded as the courier had been running down the mountain, he began the hike back up without hesitation.

  “I’ll take Wallace back with me to prepare the ships for your arrival. We’ll have to risk the voyage with just the two,” Pete said.

  “And no time for repairs,” Edward added.

  “What choice do we have? We shouldn’t have stayed for this fight.”

  The men parted and went about their work. The sun had passed its zenith before they had all aboard and were underway. Two Falcon privateers appeared along the northeast of the island as the Alphina and Old Man turned westward past the southern end.

  On a rock near the stream, the same rock where Doctor Morris and Rob had awaited their own rescue, Corporale Fabrizio Mangione sat awaiting his. A few yards away, eighteen of his countrymen and comrades were laid out on the cold ground. He knew that the ship sent to bring him and his squad back to Long Beard had burned and sunk offshore. Yet Corporale Mangione also knew that Pete Engleman was a man of his word.

  9: Serpentine Course

  With the Entdecker’s bow secured on a sandbar and the sun shining overhead, Rob walked with Piers and Greg toward the Stella Marina. The larger ship stood over the grass, which grew in thick patches along the sandbar. Piers and Greg chopped a path through these patches to allow the three of them to approach the Falcons. Rob, who insisted on not carrying a weapon, held an oar with a white flag tied to it. All three wore enough armor to protect them from crossbow bolts, though Rob opted for a helmet that showed his face. He wanted the Falcons to be able to see his sincerity.

  The sand sank uncomfortably under their feet, occasionally giving way enough to make them spring forward as if having stepped upon a hacklebush branch. Unseen creatures jumped into the water on either side with eerie plopping sounds. It seemed as if it had taken them hours to make the cautious trek to the Stella Marina. Only after they exited the last of the grass patches, and the Falcon ship was before them, did Rob realize how much he was sweating. Still, he felt a chill run through him.

  “Hold!” a voice cried out from the ship, though Rob couldn’t see the speaker. There followed an odd silence broken only by the sound of distant animals humming among the canes.

  “We are here to rescue you! . . . Siamo qui salvare!” Rob hoped he would do justice to his Iyty lessons with Bernardo.

  Several tense minutes passed before the voice responded. “What teyarms you offerah?”

  “We will parole you to Alimia provided our men are unharmed. We want to see them now.”

  Rob thought perhaps he’d located the source of the voice. He saw movement on the quarterdeck and the voice returned, rattling away in rapid Iyty. It was faster than Rob could make out. There were two voices now, arguing with each other. A third voice called out, louder than the other two. All became quiet again before a new voice spoke, this one in perfect Engle.

  “You wish for us to surrender to you?”

  Rob answered, “We wish to rescue you. Your ship is lost here; it cannot be saved. You will die here if you do not come with us. Surely you see that.”

  A head appeared over the rail of the quarterdeck. A mature face bedecked in stout, curly hair and trimmed with a beard spoke to Rob with confidence. His apparent authority led Rob to discern he was the captain. “Yes, we know we are doomed here. You are from Engle Island?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you attack the ambassador?”

  “There was . . . a miscommunication between him and his interpreter. Also one between me and my men. We meant to negotiate in good faith, I swear it.”

  “Yes, he is a difficult man to negotiate with.”

  “If you come with us, we can try to come to terms again. Perhaps—”

  “No, do not mind that. The ambassador will not talk with you again. Your terms . . . you promise to parole us?”

  “I do, assuming the two men you captured are alive and well.”

  “They are,” the man turned and spoke again in Iyty.

  “How big is your crew, and how many are wounded? I know the interpreter took an arrow,” Rob said.

  “He is dead, but we have others wounded now. We’ve suffered attacks from serpenti . . . I don’t know the Engle word.”

  “Sea serpents. Yes, we need to get everyone out of here as soon as possible.”

  There was a commotion on deck. Several of the Falcon crew, just then becoming aware of the negotiations, risked coming above decks. Some carried others, presumably the wounded, and a rope ladder was let down over the side of the hull.

  Rob placed his oar in the sand and strode forward despite the cautioning grunts he heard from Piers. He took hold of the ladder and climbed aboard. The scene that awaited him was not what he had expected. Across the deck from him, the starboard side of the Stella Marina was charred black with gaps and holes in the deck and sides. The rigging was torn, the yardarms along that side dangled and swayed in the breeze.

  The Falcon crew stood on either side of him, grim but at attention. Three were supported by their comrades, as their wounds included severe bites and a couple of missing hands. In all, eight men were all that survived of the crew. The last two of which came up from below leading Raymond Jones and Lewis Johnson.

  “Rob?!” Lewis said after his eyes adjusted to the light.

  Rob was about to respond when a new voice shouted hoarsely from the stern. The door to the captain’s cabin swung open and a bleary-eyed Ambassador Pompeo stumbled onto the deck. Rob’s eyes sought out the bronze armor of his guards, but they were absent. It seemed the elite soldiers hadn’t survived the night either.

  Pompeo reeled about on deck, clearly intoxicated. “Cosa stai facendo qui?”

  The captain moved between Pompeo and Rob, speaking sternly to the ambassador. However, Pompeo would have none of it. He attempted to move past the captain but was seized and thrown to the deck.

  “Sono al comando qui!” Pompeo screamed, but none of the crew listened.

  The captain turned back to Rob and bowed. “We are your humble prisoners. Please allow us to go with you.” He offered his sword to Rob, who declined, citing the fact that the captain may yet need to wield it in self-defense.

  Pompeo looked as one possessed by an Oric spirit. He snarled and spat, yelling loud threats at everyone. His threats went unheeded.

  “Yes, let’s go,” Rob said, and he turned to descend the ladder to the soft sand below. He pause
d, his eyes catching movement in the water on both sides of them. He looked with horrific recognition of several writhing shapes approaching their position. Piers and the Falcon captain noticed his hesitation and immediately cried out.

  “Serpents!”

  “Piers! Greg! Get up here!” Rob shouted, too late.

  The long body and spiked head of a sea serpent shot out from behind a patch of grass and took hold of Greg’s legs. His sword flew from his hand as he was flung onto his back and dragged, screaming into the water. Piers wasted no time in ascending the rope ladder and was hauled onto what remained of the Stella Marina just as two more serpents lunged out at them.

  A shot from a swivel gun blasted a hole through the thick hide of one of them, but the other was successful in knocking back the crew from the other gun. It thrashed its ugly head about as if playing with toys before snatching up one of the wounded sailors.

  The Falcon sailors fought with desperation as the fangs of the serpents came at them. Rob ducked below the port gunwale with Piers as the writhing body of a serpent passed over them toward another wounded man. It was with fascination that Rob noted the armored scales that surrounded the body. It was as big around as two men together and seemed to move as easily out of the water as it did below the waves.

  Just as Rob brought his mind back to the danger of the creatures around him, he saw Piers pick up a discarded harpoon from the deck and insert the point between two scales with expert precision. Rob rolled himself across the deck to avoid the thrashing body and took hold of the harpoon to help drive it deeper into the voracious creature.

  The serpent seemed to recognize the mortal danger it was in and withdrew. Yet two others had also boarded the ruined Stella Marina. The Falcon captain had managed to locate a loaded hand cannon. Taking quick, but careful aim, he sent the shot through the eye of one. Rob picked a sword from the ownerless weapons on deck and joined the Falcons as they coordinated an assault on the final serpent, pestering it enough to send it away from the ship. It withdrew into the water, seeking the scraps of the men taken by its more successful kin. Rob noted with disgust how the serpents, too badly hurt to defend themselves, became victims as well.

  He returned his view to the deck of the ship where he located the two Engle Islanders they came for, along with Pompeo, the Falcon captain, and three living crewmembers. None of the wounded that Rob saw when he first came aboard were still present. Two of the remaining crew were being attended to by their captain for fresh wounds.

  “The Entdecker is waiting. It seems the serpents haven’t gone after her,” Piers told Rob.

  There was no time to think. If they were to escape unscathed, now would be the time.

  “Right. Capitano! We need to get everyone across the sandbar to our ship now.”

  “Garibaldi. My name is Antoni Garibaldi. Yes, lead the way.”

  Captain Garibaldi and Rob descended the ladder first. The water on either side of them was tinged red and boiled as serpents indulged in a submarine feeding frenzy. Rob hoped it would satiate the beasts long enough for them to escape.

  Lewis Johnson picked up Greg’s discarded sword as he joined Rob along with Raymond Jones and Piers. Pompeo sobbed as he descended to the sand and hid near Garibaldi. The rest of the crew followed close behind with hand cannons and harpoons. They had learned from sad experience that swords and crossbow bolts did little against the serpents.

  They jogged quickly toward the awaiting Entdecker, where Tom and the others had already pushed the bow off the sandbar. The ship was moored by a single line, reluctantly held by Max, which Rob took hold of as soon as he arrived. Max joined the survivors piling aboard, and Rob cast the line back to Piers who then reached out a hand to pull Rob up and in.

  After Tom had maneuvered the crowded ship back into the open water, Mister Jones found his way to Rob.

  “Thank you, Mister Engleman. Coming for us was brave and I feel . . . well, that is to say . . .”

  “You’re welcome, Mister Jones.”

  Jones forced a quick smile and was about to leave when Rob spoke again. “Do take note that we are perfectly content to work with the Falcons. I didn’t just come for you, but for them also. Ambassador Pompeo is still alive, and while he’s perhaps out of sorts at the moment, it’ll be some time before we reach Engle Isle. You could renew your negotiations.”

  Jones’s face fell into a frown. He said nothing, neither did he attempt to speak to Pompeo or anyone else.

  Lewis Johnson approached Rob soon after to offer his own thanks with a hearty embrace.

  “Rob, you’ve done us proud.”

  “I don’t feel the same, counselor. I don’t think the negotiations for peace will resume.”

  “Of course they won’t, but that’s hardly your fault. While aboard their ship, Pompeo and his guards interrogated me and Raymond. They didn’t do any permanent harm, but I don’t think either of us considers Pompeo much of a negotiator anymore.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “Nothing they didn’t already know. There are a few dozen hired mercenaries on Engle Isle, that much they saw in Port John. They already know we’re fortifying the island and that we are responsible for the attacks on Alimia. Pompeo seemed satisfied with what his servant told him, assuming he was translating correctly that time.” Lewis paused for a moment before continuing. “Pompeo and his guards heard there were sea serpents following the ship. Pompeo ordered them to throw us overboard. They were about to when Captain Garibaldi intervened.”

  “The serpents attacked the ship,” Rob said, “because Garibaldi saved you.”

  “Odds are they wouldn’t have if Raymond and I had been fed to them. Yes, Garibaldi sacrificed his ship and most of his crew to save us.”

  Rob’s eyes found Garibaldi near the quarterdeck. He was attending to the wounded mercenary, Jordan. The contrast between the merciful captain and the mercurial ambassador made Rob’s mind consider the possibility of establishing peace. Even if there were good men among the upper echelons of Falcon society, were there just as many Pompeos and Marcels? Could Rob settle for peace even without obtaining freedom for Alimia? Would any settlement with the Falcon Empire be honored by them?

  The answers to these questions were debatable, though Rob thought he knew already.

  Tom interrupted the mental discussion before it could go further.

  “Rob?!” he said, pointing forward. Rob turned and lifted himself to see over the bowsprit. The Sea of Grass was still visible off their portside, the open ocean off their starboard, and three points off the starboard bow, only a few miles away, were three Y-shaped sails. “They’ve got the weather gauge, and we’ve just come out of their territory.”

  “No, we are still in their territory,” Garibaldi said, and he joined Tom on the quarterdeck. “They claim all these waters as far north as Isolla della Tartaruga. Several of our ships have been attacked in the past few months. We are going to have to fight.”

  Tom countered, “Perhaps. Or maybe we can talk to them. My brother encountered some Quillian west of Turttle Isle, and they didn’t attack his ship.”

  “Was he carrying Falcon sailors aboard his ship?”

  “No, and perhaps if there weren’t three of them and only one of us, we could test them,” Rob said, shaking his head. “We’d best run for it.”

  Garibaldi scoffed and pointed to Tom, “You cannot run. Your helmsman here is correct. They have the advantage of the wind.”

  “We can run back into the Sea of Grass,” Rob said.

  There was silence on board. All eyes seemed to focus on Rob at that moment. Eyes that glared disbelief and hostility.

  “You want us to go back in there?” Orson said.

  “We have no choice. That channel we saw earlier is up ahead. We can get there before they do and turn south.”

  “You’re more meecher than I thought,” Harry scolded. His voice and expression left no doubt of his feelings toward Rob. “Do you expect them not to follow us? They know this ar
ea better than we do. How do you expect to survive this and get out?”

  “We’ve got Max’s map to guide us, and at least in there we have level advantage. I’ll bet sea serpents will eat Quillian as easily as humans. We can use the grass to hide in and—”

  “You’re meecher!” Harry shouted.

  “He is correct,” Garibaldi said.

  Harry turned his acid stare on Garibaldi, but the Falcon captain did not waver.

  “Man the oars!” Tom commanded. Garibaldi looked at him questioningly. Tom smiled back, “Rob is our leader, but I’m captain of this ship. Tom Engleman, at your service.”

  Garibaldi gave an approving nod and turned to one of his men. “Aiutarli ai remi!”

  “Aye aye, Capitano.”

  The man joined Orson at the oar, pushing the Entdecker faster as Tom turned them closer to the line of grass. The channel was in sight, but the Quillian seemed to guess the humans’ plans. They also adjusted course to make for the opening.

  Every other man on deck took up a defensive position; every man save for Pompeo, who had finally understood what the commotion was about and huddled himself near the wounded Jordan. The Quillian ships were fast, not so much breaking through the waves as gliding over them. This despite the numbers they had aboard, which Rob and Garibaldi could now see with the aid of a far-see. They both discerned that the lead Quillian would reach the channel opening at roughly the same time the Entdecker did.

  “It is too bad you do not have powder and cannon aboard,” Garibaldi said.

  “You have your own hand cannon still,” Rob replied, indicating the weapon in Garibaldi’s hands.

  “I have only one shot. Not enough to slow them and allow us to enter the opening first.”

  Rob remembered a small wooden case he knew was stowed under the quarterdeck. He jumped down, startling Pompeo and begging Jordan’s pardon as he reached behind them. Inside the case, he found the ornate hand cannon he’d used to kill the hellhound of Hellhound Isle. There were still two shots.

  Garibaldi saw the weapon and commented as Rob loaded it. “That is a beautiful Trevisani. How did you acquire it?”