“You were asking about the fleet, sir?” said the pilot, glancing at Henry. “They sailed away three days ago. No one knows where. Secret orders, or so I heard.”
Henry shifted his spyglass to scan the Trame Channel that was now behind them as the Terrapin emerged from the Neck and sailed into the harbor. He looked once again at the three Guundaran warships.
He slammed shut the telescoping spyglass, thrust it into his pocket, and raised his voice to shout for Mr. Sloan, only to remember that he had sent him away.
The sailors were readying the pinnace for the captain’s use, checking to make certain its lift tank was filled and the small brass helm was working. The pinnace’s crew, dressed in elegant matching uniforms, stood ready to take their places in the small boat.
“Alan, don’t leave yet!” Henry called. “I’m coming with you. I must speak to the governor.”
Alan started to say something, but Henry didn’t wait to hear. He dashed below to his cabin and began to rummage through his clothes.
Alan appeared at the door. “Henry, what the devil are you doing?”
“Trying to find a jacket!” Henry said impatiently. “The one I was wearing the night I was shot is soaked in blood and Perry cut off one of the sleeves. I know Mr. Sloan brought some of my clothes. Where did he put it?”
“I mean why are you going to see the governor?”
Henry rounded on him. “Do you have to ask? The Aligoes Fleet is nowhere to be found. We have not seen a single Rosian ship, but there are three Guundaran warships in the Trame Channel!”
Alan was grim. “True, the Rosians are not attacking Wellinsport this moment. But the entire Rosian navy could be hidden among the thousand or so islands of the Aligoes and we would be none the wiser. Their Dragon Brigade is headquartered in Maribeau, within a day’s flight of Wellinsport. For all we know, Admiral Tower’s secret orders could have been to intercept and engage the Rosian invasion fleet!”
Henry snorted, but he had to admit Alan was right about the Rosians, though he knew he was right about Guundar. The sight of three Guundaran warships here was disconcerting. What the devil were they doing in Wellinsport when they should be in Haever?
He had no answer and he continued to search for the jacket and found it where he should have realized it would be if he’d been thinking clearly: Mr. Sloan had neatly folded it and packed it in a sea chest.
“As for the Guundarans,” Alan continued, “what would you have me do, Henry? We are not at war with Guundar, though God knows we would be if I attacked their ships without provocation. They have every right to sail the Trame Channel. Besides, according to you, they should be preparing to attack Haever.”
“Unless they are preparing to attack Wellinsport,” said Henry, suddenly struck by the idea.
“In which case King Ullr very kindly arranged for the Terrapin to be in Wellinsport to stop himself,” Alan said caustically.
Henry had no answer to that. Holding up the jacket, he glared at the sling covering his left arm and transferred his glare to the jacket.
“I need help putting this on,” he said, struggling to thrust his arm into the sleeve.
Alan was silent a moment, watching, then he said coldly, “I will send my steward to assist you. If you will excuse me, I must return to my duties.”
He departed, leaving Henry to gaze at his retreating form with a keen sense of loss. He tried to think what he could say to end the quarrel. He was not going to apologize, for he was in the right, but he could certainly understand that Alan would not want to risk ruining his career and face possible court-martial and death.
The steward arrived to assist Henry, draping the shoulder of the jacket over the sling and buttoning it closed. He then pinned the empty sleeve across the front so that it would not dangle and helped Henry put on clean breeches and change his stockings, and handed him his hat.
When Henry went back up on deck, he saw that the Terrapin had come to a stop. The sailing master ordered all the airscrews to a slow spin to maintain a zero position, holding the ship at rest. The crew cast out mooring lines to secure the ship to the anchor buoys.
Once the Terrapin was tied down, Alan entered the pinnace and Henry took his place alongside him. Alan gave the order and the pinnace set sail for the landing on the south side of the harbor.
Henry studied the shore batteries that had been destroyed three years ago during the Bottom Dwellers war. He was pleased to see the progress that had been made in repairing them. The new forty-eight-pound cannons were in place, and workers were dismantling some of the scaffolding, indicating the work had been completed and the guns were ready for action.
“I am pleased to see Governor Crichton has made good use of the money I sent him,” Henry remarked. “Unlike that fool viscount Queen Mary named as governor, who spent the funds intended to replace the guns on decorating the governor’s mansion.”
Alan glanced at the guns as they sailed past but said nothing.
“Finchley, that was his name,” Henry recalled. “He won the queen’s favor by giving her a monkey. Do you remember, Alan? His name was Jo-jo. God, I hated that monkey!”
Alan sat in silence.
“Alan,” said Henry, trying to make amends, “I want you to know that I do understand—”
“No, you don’t, Henry,” said Alan, facing him. “That is the point.”
He rose to his feet and made his way forward.
Henry gazed unseeing at the shops and the people along the wharf and thought about the monkey and how he had found little Jo-jo dead, lying in a pool of the queen’s blood.
THIRTY-FIVE
The office of the governor in Wellinsport maintained its own official private docking facility. Governor Crichton kept his personal yacht here. Boats carrying supplies or those who had business at the governor’s mansion were permitted to dock here. On those evenings when the governor entertained, the dock was host to a glittering armada of private vessels.
Henry and Alan arrived at the governor’s dock in the late morning. They disembarked, walked the short distance to the mansion, and gave their cards to a servant, requesting an audience with the governor.
The servant invited them to wait in the garden, then went off, presumably to deliver the message. Alan declined to sit with Henry, and walked into the garden, saying he needed to stretch his legs. He spent his time pacing beneath the shade trees.
Henry chose to find a bench. He was already fatigued by the trip in the pinnace and he began to think he should not have come. His shoulder throbbed, the bandages itched, the sling was hot and uncomfortable. He fanned himself with his hat and watched Alan make a point of ignoring him.
Alan had been known as a hothead in his youth. He was quick to act, quick to anger, reckless, daring, and bold. As captain of a ship, responsible for the lives of his crew and the successes of his missions, he had learned to temper his impulsiveness and give careful consideration to his actions. He could still be reckless, but he was now “mindfully reckless,” as he always said with a laugh. Quick to take offense, he was also quick to forgive offenders. He had never been one to harbor a grudge, nurse his anger.
But he could not forgive what he considered to be an insult.
Henry could concede that Alan had every reason to refuse to listen to him. Henry had urged him to risk his career—which was his very life—on what he considered to be a mad whim. Henry had no evidence to back up his claim that Freya was in danger from King Ullr. Alan was correct. The Countess de Marjolaine was a Rosian who had actively worked for Freya’s downfall for most of her life; Henry could see why Alan would not be willing to accept her as a reliable source of information.
But Henry knew from his own experience that there were times when one had to take risks, throw caution—even wisdom—to the four winds. Henry believed with every fiber of his being that this was one of those times. Their country was in dire peril. And the Terrapin, the most formidable ship in the Royal Navy, was far from Haever, hoodwinked into confront
ing a Rosian threat that he was certain did not exist.
Henry found the inexplicable absence of the Aligoes Fleet and the simultaneous presence of three Guundaran warships in the Trame Channel extremely troubling.
“In which case, Alan will be in the right place at the right time for the wrong reason,” Henry muttered grimly. “Just like his goddamned luck!”
The servant returned to say that Governor Crichton would be pleased to see them—as indeed he should be, for he owed his governorship appointment to Henry. The servant escorted them into the governor’s office. The hallway was cool and dark, shaded from the blazing sun by the thick stands of trees in the gardens outside the house.
As Henry paused to admire the beauty of the exotic flowers, he noticed three gentlemen walking the garden path—and came up short at the sight of them.
The three men were Guundaran naval officers, two captains and a commander. They were leaving by a private entrance. Henry was intimately familiar with the mansion, and he knew that a door from Crichton’s office opened onto a veranda and a pathway into the garden.
“Alan,” said Henry, calling his friend’s attention to the visitors.
Alan paused, brought up short by the warning tone in Henry’s voice. He looked outside, saw the officers, glanced at Henry, and continued walking.
Crichton was in his office, waiting for them. He rose to his feet and advanced to shake hands.
Born and raised in the Aligoes, Crichton had the brown, weathered complexion of one who spends much of his time in the sun. He still oversaw the work on the family sugar cane plantations, and because he was one of them, he was well-liked among the populace.
He was friends with Henry and knew Alan from the latter’s Rose Hawk privateering days. He had been Henry’s choice to succeed the profligate and corrupt Governor Finchley. The three men spent a few moments reminiscing and catching up on family news and tidings of old friends before turning to business. Crichton was concerned to see Henry’s heavily bandaged arm in a sling.
Henry made light of his injury. “I was leaving work, slipped on the ice, and took a tumble down the steps of the Foreign Office. Broke my collarbone. Tell me, Your Excellency,” he added, his tone sharpening, “I saw three Guundaran naval officers in the garden. I assume they belong to those three Guundaran warships in the Trame Channel.”
“You don’t miss much, do you, my lord,” said Crichton with a smile. He was a tall man with a shaved head in deference to the heat, and sported a golden earring. “Yes, those were three of their officers. They’ve had a rough time of it. They were bound for Bheldem when the Winter Witch caught them and blew their ships off course. The storm winds did considerable damage to masts and rigging. They have requested permission to enter the harbor to make repairs and to take on water and provisions.”
“Those ships did not appear to me to be badly damaged, Your Excellency,” said Henry.
“I wouldn’t know, my lord,” said Crichton. “Being a landlubber, I can’t tell a bowsprit from a keel. Captain Northrop, I would very much like a chance to tour the Terrapin, if that is possible given your duties here. I have read a great deal about your wonderful ship.”
Alan was about to reply, when Henry interrupted him.
“What duties, Your Excellency?”
“I assumed Captain Northrop and the Terrapin are here to guard the channel in the absence of the Aligoes Fleet,” Crichton replied.
“We noticed the fleet was not in the usual station,” said Henry. “Where did they go?”
Crichton appeared bewildered at the question. “I thought you must have known, my lord. Admiral Tower received orders a fortnight ago to sail immediately to Sornhagen.”
Alan had been sitting in his chair, staring out the window, absently clenching and unclenching his fist. His gaze suddenly snapped to the governor.
“Sornhagen!” he repeated, startled.
“Yes, Captain,” said Crichton. “Are you telling me you didn’t know?”
Alan sat back in his chair, his expression darkening.
“What were Admiral Tower’s orders, Excellency?” he asked.
“The orders were secret, of course, but he had permission to tell me since the safety of Wellinsport was involved. Our new Chancellor of War—I think his name is Smythe—ordered the fleet to Sornhagen to protect Freyan interests in the region from an attack by the Dragon Brigade. As you know, gentlemen, we do a great deal of business with the Travian cartels. Admiral Tower did not want to leave until another ship had arrived to take over, but since he had to be in Sornhagen by this date, he had no choice but to depart.”
“We were delayed,” said Alan. “We ran into the same foul weather as the Guundarans. But no matter. The Terrapin is here now. We will take over the fleet’s duties.”
“Admiral Tower was duped, as were you, Governor,” said Henry. “The Dragon Brigade is not about to attack Sornhagen, or Freya either, for that matter.”
“But we are at war with Rosia, or we soon will be, my lord,” Crichton protested. “They assassinated our queen!”
Henry was grim. “The Rosians are no more responsible for assassinating our queen than you are, Excellency.”
Crichton blinked at him, shocked.
Alan attempted to draw him away. “Henry, you do not look well. I think we should leave.”
Henry ignored his friend and faced Crichton. “I know for a fact, sir, that our queen was killed by this Smythe, an evil man who has seized control of our kingdom. He had himself named Chancellor of War and is trying to lure Rosia into war with us. Thank God, our king has refused to rush into battle and the Rosians have more sense than to take the bait. All the while, Guundar lies coiled like a snake in the grass, preparing to strike. And now I find three Guundaran warships in the channel about to be invited to sail into the harbor. You must refuse the Guundaran ships permission to dock here, sir. Send them on their way.”
Crichton was astonished by Henry’s vehemence. Despite his piratical appearance, the governor was a mild-mannered man who disliked unpleasantness and confrontation.
“My lord, the captain of the Sunsvall tells me that they have been forced to ration food and water for a week and their crewmen are suffering,” Crichton said. “The Godswald was struck by wizard lightning that disrupted the magic on their lift tanks. They barely made it this far without sinking.”
“As I have said before, we are not at war with Guundar, Henry,” Alan added tersely. “Governor Crichton cannot in good conscience deny aid.”
Henry leaned forward to fix the governor with a gaze meant to intimidate. A wide expanse of mahogany desk separated Henry from the governor, but he had the satisfaction of seeing Crichton nervously shrink back.
“Yet we are presumably at war with Rosia with not a single Rosian ship in sight,” said Henry in biting tones. “I arrive in Wellinsport, which I remind you, sir, is our country’s most valuable asset in the Aligoes, to find three Guundaran ships in the harbor and our fleet in Sornhagen! You must deny the ships entry, Excellency!”
Crichton drew himself up, finally prepared to assert his authority. “I have made my decision, Sir Henry. I have already granted the Guundaran ships permission to enter the harbor. They have ordered new rigging, new masts, and victualing, bringing much needed revenue to our city.”
Henry glared at the man in impotent fury. Afraid of what he might say, he jumped from his chair and stalked out of the room. As he flung open the door to the office, he heard Crichton say in troubled tones to Alan, “Did His Lordship hit his head when he fell?”
Henry slammed out of the office, catching the servants by surprise. He snarled at them. “Leave me alone! I know the way!”
Once outdoors, he had time to cool his anger while he waited for Alan, who was undoubtedly spending a few moments apologizing for Henry’s outburst.
Henry walked rapidly about halfway through the garden before pain and fatigue got the better of him. He stopped beneath a lime tree to rest and think what he should do.
>
Alan found him a few moments later.
“Henry, we have to talk,” Alan said, his voice grating.
“Not here,” said Henry, indicating the thick growth of trees and flowering bushes in which an army of spies could be lurking.
Alan took his meaning and managed to contain his fury until they had reached the docks, which were out in the open. The pinnace had not yet returned to pick them up. The afternoon sun was hot, and the docks were deserted, save for the two of them. Henry sat down on a bench. Alan sat down beside him.
“Ullr again!” Alan said, exasperated. “Frankly, Henry, you are obsessed with this man. You are making him into some sort of diabolical monster!”
“Think of it, Alan. Ullr takes us by surprise while our ships are scattered all over the world and the Terrapin is hundreds of miles away. Our king is young and inexperienced. Ullr defeats Freya and then what? He has the Freyan navy as well as the Guundaran navy under his control. He attacks Rosia. Guundar could well rule the world!”
“And what about the Dragon Brigade?” Alan asked.
“I am certain Smythe has found some way to deal with them,” Henry muttered.
“That is nothing but wild speculation!” Alan said in exasperation.
Henry gave a faint smile. “On the contrary, it is a careful calculation based on twenty years of knowledge of our adversaries.”
Alan regarded him grimly. “What have you done, Henry?”
“What I had to do,” said Henry with a shrug of his shoulders, which he immediately regretted. He grimaced at the pain. “I sent a letter to the Countess de Marjolaine warning her of Smythe’s scheming, asking her to keep Rosia from declaring war.”
Alan was livid. He abruptly stood up, walked to the end of the dock, and stood staring down into the Breath, breathing hard until he had mastered his anger. He turned around and walked back to confront his friend.
Kingmaker (The Dragon Corsairs) Page 34
