The packinghouse owner interjected himself quickly. “These things take time, it’s unreasonable to—”
“What hasn’t changed?” I asked, cutting him off. “We read the messages in the bottles.”
“Then you know the bulk of it. Two days after the news of the reforms arrived here, the city lord enacted a new tax on fishmongers and others who peddle freelance. There was to be no new taxation, if the Reform Bill was followed, without a vote by elected council.”
“That’s true,” I confirmed.
“And there’s been no date set for the elections.”
“I see.”
“We know what happened at Midwinter—we all read the pamphlets then and we read them now. Seems we’re of one mind with the folks up in Galitha City about what happens next, if the reforms aren’t followed.”
I glanced around me for the first time since engaging the red-capped workers. The entire packinghouse was quiet, watching us. The soldiers’ wary stances betrayed their discomfort with the turn our tour had taken, but I knew that there was no threat from these people. I had seen threat in the wordless language of a mob before; the crowd in this dim space wasn’t interested in threatening Annette or me. They saw us as the ear of the king, as a vague form of hope.
And I had to say something that would affirm their rights without unleashing a tempest in the salt vats.
“Your concerns have been heard,” I began, regretting instantly how weak those words were. “You are correct that the reforms are to be enforced without delay.” I hedged back, not willing to discuss the legality of complex codes that the reforms addressed—without confirming with someone who knew more, I couldn’t know for sure if the new tax or the delay in elections was truly illegal or merely outside the spirit of the law. “The Prince of Westland is distressed, as you are, that more progress has not been made.”
They seemed heartened but not entirely reassured. I couldn’t blame them—I had no authority to speak, and I could only hope that Theodor, in fact, was currently addressing reform implementation timelines with the city lord and the local nobility. I couldn’t, however, promise that. “What is your name?” I asked the de facto speaker for the Red Caps.
“Byran Border,” he replied, blanching with surprise that I should ask. “Miss. Ma’am. Your Ladyship.” He nodded to both Annette and I, so pale his freckles stood out like block-printed spots on white cotton.
“I appreciate your willingness to speak, Mr. Border.” I essayed a smile.
Border hesitated, then spoke again. “If I may—we’re hearing the same from all over southern Galitha.” He swallowed, and his comrades encouraged him. “There’s Red Caps in every town, every province. We write to one another—there’s a few in each town and village what can read and write well enough, as it were.”
“And?” I said. I hadn’t realized that the laborers outside the city were organized enough to maintain a network of communication. If they already communicated with one another, what else might they be capable of?
“And it’s like this in all the fishing towns. The agricultural regions are worse—plenty of nobles seem to have disregarded the orders for local elected regional councils entirely and some aren’t paying wages for work.” He shifted, his broad shoulders bearing the uncomfortable weight as speaker for his comrades. “We want no trouble, Your Ladyship, but if it comes to us, we’ll return it in kind.”
“I’m not a ‘Ladyship,’” I interjected with a smile, which he shyly returned.
I nodded, taking this in, unsure of what to say, to promise, to reveal. We hadn’t learned any of this in Galitha City—of course, news was slow to travel from the extreme south to the north, but I had a sinking feeling it was more problematic than that. The gaggle of nobles convened in Galitha City were certainly corresponding with their acquaintances and neighboring nobles at their ancestral holdings, but they had no interest in sharing this kind of news with the champions of the Reform Bill. The people in the streets of Galitha City were probably more well-informed than Theodor.
“Thank you,” I said, addressing Border. “This tour has been very informative. If ever you wish to raise any more concerns, I—” I paused. What could I offer, who was I in the system of governance? An official consort and, someday, wife—but I would speak for my people. “You can write to me.”
22
THE REMAINDER OF THE VOYAGE WAS QUIET. WE MADE BRIEF stops at two more port cities, each time greeted by quiet crowds in red caps, each time sending only Theodor and Merhaven ashore for meetings with local nobility. Theodor had swiftly changed course from meetings intended to exchange pleasantries and reaffirm the importance of the southern regions that royalty seldom visited to meetings intended to discern what delays were occurring with the reforms. Local nobles insisted that there were no delays; stone-faced commoners didn’t have to speak to disagree.
The only change for Annette and I was the addition of Lady Merhaven, who insisted on maintaining the formality of dinner times on board ship, which Theodor, Annette, and I had gleefully abandoned in favor of charcuterie plates and baskets of fresh fruit eaten on deck.
“Thank the Galatine Divine we still have breakfast and lunch to ourselves,” Theodor said as we left a particularly long dinner.
“I don’t even have an appetite for all this food,” I said. “It’s too hot for roast anything—and the poor cook. She actually made him fix boiled puddings?”
“I know.” Theodor sighed. “There are some things even a crown prince can’t control. Lady Merhaven is, apparently, one of them. But I will say—she knows protocol and formalities like a first language. She’ll be useful to both of us in Isildi.”
“Well, bully for her,” I grumbled. After our discoveries in the port cities we’d visited, my impression of the importance of the Five-Year Summit waned. It wasn’t a fair comparison, of course—foreign affairs and international trade were still important—but I was personally invested in the Reform Bill and its success.
“My complaint is that it’s impossible to discuss the problems I’m seeing on shore with Merhaven around.”
“You don’t trust him?” I asked, surprised. We were sailing into the uncharted waters of a foreign diplomacy mission, and Merhaven was setting our course.
“I trust him for what we’re doing in Serafe. But he does little more than make excuses for the delays and shortcomings of the reform implementations. I asked each of the city lords to provide me their plans, with timetables. None could do more than sputter about change taking time.”
Annette joined us at the bow of the ship. “I do like seeing where we’re going rather than where we’ve been,” she said with a wry smile. Admiral Merhaven had spent most of dinner reminiscing about battles he had witnessed that were otherwise relegated to history books.
Theodor laughed. “It helps if one can see both,” he said. “I don’t like this,” he said, his pensive expression returning.
“You don’t think they’ll openly oppose the law, do you?” Annette drummed on the railing. “Open sedition—that’s a lot of work for most of these dumplings.”
“They’re opposing it now, just quietly.” He sighed. “I think they’re hoping the Crown won’t push, that we’ll ignore them and let the laws lapse.” Theodor watched the coastline moving past at a distance. “My father wants stability most of all. Instability can come from the nobles or the common people.”
“Enough speculating,” Annette said, waving her hand. “What? I know it’s important, but don’t look at me like a baleful sheep, Theo. We are on a boat.”
“A ship,” he corrected.
“A ship, in the middle of the ocean.”
“We’re less than a half mile from land.”
“Surrounded by water, en route to a foreign nation. There is very little we can do,” she said, with which Theodor couldn’t argue. “I brought several new novels and I intend to have them finished before we’re back—Viola and I plan to chat about them. Rather our way of keeping in touch, I suppose
,” she said. “I’ll be reading.”
“Does she know she’s supposed to go shopping for a husband in Serafe?” I asked after Annette left.
“Yes,” Theodor said. “She knows it’s expected of her. Whether she’ll cooperate is anyone’s guess. Lady Merhaven is supposed to be playing matchmaker.”
“What a horrid term,” I said.
“The Serafans use them nearly exclusively,” Theodor replied. “Most marriages in West Serafe are arranged.”
“So they don’t even know their spouse until—ugh.”
“Hardly. The clan houses all know one another to some degree—well, like much of our nobility. They make one another’s acquaintance with the assistance of the matchmaker. And they can typically refuse any match—though it’s often ill-advised to do so.”
“Still, it seems odd—to have some third party meddling with your marriage.”
“Yes, we only have an entire nation meddling in ours,” Theodor replied.
I wasn’t sure if I should protest, laugh, or cry a little, so I chose to laugh.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve let Mother begin making some arrangements—there’s not much damage she can do while she’s in Rock’s Ford, but it’s rather widely expected that the wedding will take place before winter.”
“If you think that’s best.” I had never harbored any illusions that I could expect a modest wedding, but relinquishing control of the preliminary planning reinforced the tiny role my preferences would have.
Theodor’s shoulders tensed. “It’s not what I think, it’s what’s expected. And yes, I don’t think delaying sends a particularly good message.”
“I never said I wanted to delay,” I shot back. “It’s just that it’s—”
“You aren’t having second thoughts, are you?” His fingertips traced the gold at his wrist.
“I’m allowed,” I said tersely, “to be less than thrilled with the prospect of a very public wedding planned by your mother, who is, shall we say, less than enthused about me.”
“Yes”—he sighed—“you are.” I pinched back more argument, that I didn’t need him pouncing on every shred of frustration and reticence I felt as though they were attacks on our betrothal. They weren’t—but I couldn’t be expected to behave like a gleeful bride when I knew full well that this marriage would be read as a political statement by the entire country and resented by my groom’s parents.
Evening was pulling darkness tighter around the ship, making the coastline appear murky and dreamlike, blurring the lines of the horizon in every direction but the pale gold where the sun had set.
“What is that?” I said, eyes trained to a brilliant speck of orange-red ahead of us, nestled in the coastline.
He squinted. “Looks like a fire,” he replied.
“Is there a town or a port or—”
“Nothing for miles of that sort.” He pressed his lips tightly closed. “Hard to tell—local farmers or fishermen having a bonfire for some celebration, or someone shipwrecked signaling for help?”
I shifted uneasily, fingers tracing the rail. “Wouldn’t they go farther inland—if it was someone in trouble?”
“Most places, yes, but there are cliffs and thick forests along some of the southern coast. If you didn’t know your way?” Theodor shrugged. “You might decide to take your chances on the coast and save your neck from a fall.” He sighed. “I feel we’re duty bound to investigate,” he half grumbled as he trotted toward the captain’s cabin.
He returned with Merhaven and a pair of spyglasses. “Well, they certainly aren’t celebrating,” Merhaven confirmed as he closed the glass. “More folks gathered than I would anticipate for a shipwreck or some other trouble, but they aren’t having a social gathering unless it’s a funeral.”
“Drop a longboat and go ashore?” Theodor said. We were nearly alongside the fire now, and I could see dim figures gathered around it. Even at a distance, the scene appeared sober despite the bright firelight and swiftly emerging stars.
“I think that would be best,” Merhaven agreed. “I’ll send Lieutenant Westland and a small contingent.”
Ballantine looked perfectly tailored as usual, despite having been fetched from off duty, and quickly assembled a half-dozen sailors. As the longboat dropped toward the water, Theodor watched the shore, trying to discern some kind of response from the group gathered there. The dark obscured his vision, and we waited.
The boat landed on shore, and neither Theodor nor I had any idea what was happening in the dark until the sharp crack of a gunshot echoed across the water.
“Whore’s ass,” Merhaven cursed as he whipped his spyglass out. I wasn’t sure which shocked me more—the gunfire or Merhaven’s choice of words.
“You should get inside,” Theodor said, pushing me behind him, away from the rail.
“As should you,” Merhaven interjected. “The last thing I need is the heir to the throne shot on a boat under my command.” Theodor hesitated, craning to see the shore. “Now, Your Highness!” Merhaven bellowed as another shot was fired.
“They couldn’t possibly hit us here,” I insisted, to myself as well as Theodor, as we moved inside.
“They couldn’t aim effectively, no. But the shot can certainly travel that far.”
“What happened?” Annette cried, bursting into the captain’s cabin where we waited.
“We don’t know,” Theodor said, leaning on the table that anchored the center of the room. “We sent a longboat to shore to investigate what we thought was a signal fire.”
“And our sailors shot at them, or they shot at the sailors?”
“Don’t know.” Theodor bit his lip, impatient. “Either way, we didn’t send them armed with much and they certainly don’t have ammunition for a firefight.”
“So they’ll return to the ship?”
“Unless the longboat is overtaken, yes.”
“But who could they be?” Annette pressed. “The people on shore?”
“Annette,” Theodor said with barely controlled frustration, “I don’t know.”
Merhaven strode into the room. “The longboat is on the way back.”
“Our men in it?”
“Unless one of them has the same beanpole silhouette as Lieutenant Westland, then yes.” Merhaven heaved an agitated sigh. “No more shore excursions,” he said to no one in particular. There hadn’t been any more scheduled anyway.
Long minutes passed and the ship was strangely silent. There was always a quiet bustle of sailors working and cleaning, the cook and his mate in the galley, even, in the deepest reaches of the night, someone on watch. Now the only sound was the lap of water against the Gyrfalcon’s sides and, distant but growing closer, the rhythmic splashing of oars.
Finally the boat was hauled up—we could hear the orders and the jangle of iron and the hollow report of the boat as it met the deck. Ballantine came into the cabin a moment later, disheveled and, I saw immediately, spattered with a bit of red across his white waistcoat that could only be blood.
“It’s not mine,” he replied to the admiral’s unasked question. “Brooks took a ricochet—he’s fine. Will be fine.”
“What happened?” Merhaven asked.
Ballantine glanced at Annette and I, and Theodor interjected before he could protest. “Go ahead. They’ve a stake in this, too, of course.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe that. It’s—” Ballantine stopped. “It might be upsetting.”
I almost laughed at the absurdity of anything upsetting me, short of a cannibalistic feast on shore. “I’ll take my chances,” I replied instead.
“The gathering on shore wasn’t a bunch of castaways—it was an organized meeting. The bonfire was serving as a sort of lighthouse to mark the meeting spot.”
Merhaven nodded. “Yes, but who?”
Ballantine hesitated again.
“Spit it out,” Theodor said.
“Minor nobles—I saw house crests. And some non-nobles, too, most likely. I can’
t say for certain—they didn’t continue talking once we arrived—but their response at the king’s navy arriving in the midst of their meeting? Reeked of sedition.”
I sucked in air, not sure if it was fear or anger or a bitter sense of repetition that I felt.
“And they fired on you?”
Ballantine nodded at Merhaven’s question. “Yes, they were armed—not well, not as though they were intending some kind of formal engagement,” he supplied in answer to the question that would surely follow. “Pistols, mostly. A couple fowlers. Not military weapons.”
“Well, that’s some good news—they aren’t lining up for war just yet,” Theodor spat.
“When they saw the uniforms, some of them ran, a couple seemed to attempt some kind of cover—they spoke to us, tried to make nice—but a group of them primed and fired.” He shook his head. “We returned fire, but of course most of them ran.”
Theodor cocked his head. “Most of them?”
“That’s right. One was injured—it looks to be a slash wound to the leg, which must have been an accident from one of his own people.”
“What happened to him?” Theodor asked.
“We brought him on board. He continues to insist that there is no formalized collusion,” Ballantine said with a slight twist of a smile that said he didn’t believe the man at all.
Theodor sighed.
“So he and a dozen of his friends were simply having a beachside bonfire and Royal Navy target practice for a bit of fun?” I interjected.
Ballantine’s smile faded. “No, he admits that they were having a meeting, discussing the troubles they’re running into with the reforms. But nothing seditious, of course.”
“Of course not. At night, at a secluded beach.” I snorted. “People who meet in the dark can’t be trusted.”
“Typically a good rule.” Theodor paced back and forth, only a few of his long strides taking him across the cabin with each pass.
I pressed. “People who fire upon the Royal Navy also can’t be trusted.”
Fray Page 14
