Blade Of Fire (Book 2)

by Stuart Hill

  Sharley and Maggie’s meeting with Venezzia’s ruler had been odd, to say the least. The day had begun when the two courtiers, Signors Gabraldi and Permino, who’d first welcomed them to Venezzia, arrived at the quayside in a small State galley. Sharley and Maggie had been seated on plush divans in the centre of the vessel, and they’d set off to the palace. They’d crossed the wide lagoon to the city of Venezzia, in an amazingly short time and then dived into a dark labyrinth of narrow back waterways, where the oars of the galley almost scraped the banks on either side as they dipped and rose into and out of the murky waters.

  The houses that lined these canals were dirty and crumbling, with shuttered windows or with dubious looking characters peering out. Most of these ducked out of sight as they approached, but at one large crumbling cliff of a building, several men appeared and started to shout something that Sharley could barely understand, but which seemed to be a demand for payment before they’d let the galley through.

  Signor Permino waved a contemptuous hand, and immediately a hail of crossbow bolts were spat at the building from somewhere below decks, and two of the men fell screeching into the water. The galley glided on, and at another wave of Senor Permino’s hand more crossbow bolts zipped through the windows, but this time they left trails of sparks, and soon the building was in flames.

  Sharley was horrified. He’d never seen anyone killed before, despite his family’s status as warriors. And the easy contempt with which Signor Permino had had the men slaughtered left him feeling both sick and angry. Killing an enemy in legitimate combat was one thing, but this appalled him. Then, with quiet indifference, Permino spoke to one of his young officials, “Remind me to have this nest of filth cleaned out before the end of the month.”

  Sharley knew his mother would tell him to harden his attitude: this was a different world to the one he knew and he could do nothing. He looked about him at his surroundings and tried to distract himself.

  Exactly why they were taking such a roundabout route to the Doge’s palace wasn’t clear. In a desperate attempt to shake off the memory of the burning house he tried to ask Maggie what was going on, but the old man only smiled grimly and placed a finger on his lips. “All questions will be answered. But, for the moment, please be patient.”

  Sharley shrugged. He could wait, as long as he was told soon.

  The galley was now nosing out into a broader waterway that seemed to be lined with the rear entrances of enormous buildings. Small docks and broad flights of stairs led down to the canal, where boats and galleys of all descriptions were unloading passengers and goods in equal quantities. But, unusually, this waterway was a dead end; no other canals intersected with it and there was only one entrance. Also, soldiers were standing on every dock and what looked like tiny war-galleys patrolled up and down the waters, each one containing men with crossbows. This had to be the rear entrance to the Doge’s Palace. They drew up to a wide, elegant sweep of steps.

  “His Eminence the Doge begs the pardon of your Royal Highness in asking you to enter his humble establishment through the trade and kitchen quarters, but he is sure that your supreme intelligence will have informed you of the need for care,” said Signor Permino, sweeping off his wildly plumed hat as he bowed.

  The gangway was lowered, and several soldiers rushed to line either side of it as Sharley and Maggie were helped out of the boat and then whisked up the stairs and through an archway into the kitchens. Everywhere was fire and chaos as meats were roasted on spits, cauldrons seethed and ovens belched out heat in a seemingly solid wall that Sharley and his party were obliged to force their way through. Chefs in white aprons and ridiculously tall white hats screeched at assistants, and over all the human clamour clattered an accompaniment of pots and pans as water was boiled, meats fried and pastries baked. It was even more chaotic than Yuletide in the Frostmarris scullery!

  They eventually emerged into a series of winding corridors, and after a journey that lasted several confusing minutes, they came to a passageway that was lined with wood panelling and was empty of anyone else. After Signor Gabraldi had tiptoed in elaborate silence to the door at the farther end and ensured no one was about to enter, Signor Permino stepped over to a section of panelling. He pressed a carved flower, and the panel slid open.

  A secret passageway! How in keeping with Venezzian society, thought Sharley, but rather than let them think him an excitable barbarian boy who was easily impressed, he simply smiled knowingly and ducked inside. He then had to wait in a cramped and dusty stairway as the two courtiers squeezed by to lead the way. In less than a minute their guides were knocking at another piece of panelling, and it opened to reveal a sumptuously decorated room with a throne standing beneath a red velvet awning.

  It took Sharley a few moments to notice the tall man gazing out of a huge window overlooking the Grand Central Canal. He looked like part of a moving painting, as galleys and full-sized ships sailed up and down, while tiny supply boats whipped backwards and forwards over the greeny-blue waters.

  Eventually the man turned and, after looking at them for a second, his face folded itself into a well-practised smile. “Ah, Prince Regent Charlemagne, I can at last look upon the features of the young man I have heard so much about.”

  Sharley felt his gammy leg threatening to buckle under him, but locking his knee with determination, he smiled and bowed his head. “Your Eminence Doge Machiavelli, I am honoured and gratified.”

  The Doge’s smile, having done its job, had been packed away, but now an expressive eyebrow climbed his forehead. “I see the reports were by no means an exaggeration. You do speak Venezzian.”

  “As I explained to your emissaries, Maggiore Totus has been a more than able tutor,” Sharley said, and was relieved when the cold, flinty eyes turned from him and came to rest on Maggie.

  “Signor Totus. You are exactly as I imagined: a man whose intricacies are packaged in an unassuming exterior. I must admit your plan amuses me. Its audacity is quite breathtaking, but there are times when danger is the only antidote to decades of careful and tedious government. Shall we sit?”

  He led the way to a small table set with three goblets. Signor Permino took up a position behind the Doge’s chair, while Gabraldi melted into the shadows at the back of the room. “Please forgive the charade of secrecy,” the elegantly tall man said while they made themselves comfortable. “We all know that the Empire’s spies will have reported your presence as soon as you arrived in Venezzia. But if we don’t make at least a pretence of secrecy, the enemy will think we’re getting arrogant, and that could be dangerous.” He poured three measures of wine, and asked, “How long will you need to establish contact?”

  “That has already been achieved by happy accident,” said Maggie.

  “Indeed?” the Doge said quietly, but didn’t ask for details. “Then when will you begin your journey?”

  “As soon as a ship is made available, Your Eminence.”

  “The day after tomorrow. It will be crewed by Hellenic mercenaries, and none of them will know that they are in the pay of the Venezzian Republic.” Suddenly the flinty eyes held Maggie in a penetrating gaze. “It will remain that way.”

  “Of course.”

  “You will send no messages or reports of your progress while you are away. The Empire’s spy network is far too efficient to risk contact of any sort. And if you’re intercepted by the Imperial Forces, then the Venezzian Republic knows nothing about your mission.” Machiavelli paused briefly to let Maggie absorb his words, then he added: “Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly, Your Eminence.”

  Sharley felt as if he’d become invisible and had stumbled in on a private conversation. How dare they ignore him? He’d entered a world where people could be killed with an indolent wave of the hand, and where intrigue and secrecy seemed second nature. And now they were talking over him as though he had no right to understand their conversation! He was Prince Regent, and if plans were being finalised – let alone made – th
en he had a right to know what they were. In tones that his grandfather King Redrought would have been proud of, he said: “Excuse me, have I died or something? I just wondered because everyone seems to be ignoring me here!”

  Maggie patted his arm. “I’ll explain later,” he whispered.

  “Why can’t you explain now? How could you have brought me to a meeting with the Doge without telling me what’s going on?” he asked, his tone confused and hurt. “Are you trying to make me look like some stupid young nobody whom you control?” His eyes flashed around the room. “I see two rulers and three servants here, and one of the servants is called Maggiore Totus. Perhaps he’s forgotten that!”

  Machiavelli sat back in his seat, his eyes narrowed as he reevaluated the boy before him.

  “There has been no time to fill you in on details, Your Majesty,” Maggie hissed. “I intended to explain everything to you after we had left the palace.”

  “No time in all the weeks of our sea journey? It’s pretty clear you’ve been in touch with Venezzia for months, yet you’ve never thought of saying anything to me about it.”

  “The negotiations have been . . . delicate and complex. Everything may have fallen through, and I didn’t want to raise false hopes. What can I say? . . . I thought it better that no one knew until I had something definite to tell. If I’d explained my plans and they’d come to nothing, the disappointment might have had a devastating effect on the morale of the Icemark.”

  “What plans? You still haven’t explained,” said Sharley angrily. Then, before Maggie could answer, he asked, “Does my mother even know?”

  “Well, erm . . . no,” the old scholar said with a nervous glance at the Doge. “She already had enough to worry about. I didn’t think it right to burden her with more.”

  “Didn’t think it right?” Sharley was stupefied with anger. “She’s the Queen! How dare you make plans without telling her, whatever they are!”

  Maggie suddenly felt old beyond even his considerable years. There were times when diplomacy and international intrigue were too heavy a burden. And now even gentle Sharley was turning against him. Obviously he’d miscalculated, and if he didn’t think quickly, then everything could fall apart.

  The only solution seemed to be complete honesty. He sat up, took a deep breath and said, “Your Majesty, Prince Charlemagne. When the threat from the Polypontus was renewed I realised that Scipio Bellorum would never have contemplated another invasion unless he was absolutely certain he would succeed. He would have calculated all the odds, allowed for the abilities and the effect of all of the allies, and reached the conclusion, not only that he could win, but that he definitely would win. And so, I decided that the only thing to do was to upset his calculations by adding a factor that would make his conclusions null and void. Namely, something unexpected: new allies!”

  He took a sip from his goblet and quickly glanced at his audience. Sharley was listening carefully despite his anger, and Machiavelli was watching proceedings with his calculating eye. Maggie took another deep breath and continued.

  “Of course, your mother had made alliances with all possible peoples in the region. Short of signing a treaty with the birds of the air, there was no one else to turn to. So, I knew we would have to look farther afield, and it was then that I contacted the Doge.

  “It soon became clear that Venezzia wasn’t in a position to help openly and directly, but His Eminence suggested an . . . alternative solution. He proposed that I make contact with the Desert People.”

  “Captain Al-Khatib’s people! Those of the brilliant light cavalry!” said Sharley, excited and absorbed despite his anger.

  “Precisely. If we could get them to join our struggle against the Empire then we could still defeat Bellorum, no matter what he has planned!”

  “But why should they help us?” Sharley asked, suddenly deflating after his initial enthusiasm.

  “Because the Desert People hate Bellorum and his Empire; because the fame of the Icemark’s victory has reached even them; and because they are desperate to strike at their enemy in a way that will finally rid them of the continuing threat to their borders and freedom,” said Maggie.

  “So have they agreed to join the alliance?”

  “Erm . . . no. Not yet. Captain Al-Khatib was my first contact with them. The diplomatic work and negotiations have yet to begin. And that is where you, Your Majesty, come in, providing of course that you agree.”

  “What do you mean?” Sharley asked nervously.

  “We must undertake an embassy to the Desert People. We must visit their Court and place our plans directly before the Sultan.”

  “You mean I’m to be a Royal Ambassador, just like my mother was to the Vampire King and Queen and to the Snow Leopards?”

  “Precisely.”

  Sharley swallowed nervously. He wasn’t sure he could do it. He was a gawky boy with about as much diplomatic skill as a clown at a funeral. After all, he’d just verbally attacked Maggie in front of the Doge, instead of waiting till after the meeting as he knew he should have done. He was just too hottempered and hasty. He was almost certain to do or say something ridiculous at just the wrong moment and spoil all of Maggie’s efforts.

  “Do you think I can do it?” he asked nervously.

  “My Lord Charlemagne, when I look at you I see your mother when she was your age. You have exactly the same combination of pride and lack of confidence; you have exactly the same fiery temper and, forgive me, vulnerability; and I’m convinced you have exactly the same potential to achieve greatness beyond anything you’d ever imagine yourself capable of.”

  Sharley blushed so furiously his hair and his face were almost the same colour. But he was totally unable to speak. Embarrassment, confusion and fear combined to strike him dumb, and he buried his nose in his goblet of wine.

  The Doge had been watching with an interest that rose above that of a mere bystander. He was about to commit his small country to helping an enemy of the mighty Polypontian Empire, and if he miscalculated then the wrath of Scipio Bellorum could well be turned against them – once, that is, he’d defeated the barbarous Icemark. However, if they succeeded against all the odds, then the political applecart would most certainly be upset, and perhaps Venezzia could rise to fill the vacuum left by the Empire. It was a risk, but he liked taking risks and there was much that could be gained. The Doge absently tapped his fingernail against the silver of his wine goblet as he reached his decision.

  “It would appear that the Prince’s anger has been quelled, for the time being,” said Machiavelli. “But rather than risk his ire once again, might I enquire if the plan to begin your journey to the land of the Desert People the day after tomorrow is still acceptable?”

  Maggie looked at Sharley, his eyebrows raised. Realising that everyone was looking at him, the boy choked on his wine. After spluttering and burping for a few moments, he managed to draw enough breath to croak, “Yes.”

  “Bene! Then, Your Majesty, and Signor Totus, we have an agreement. In two days’ time you will have left our territorial waters and you will be travellers on a private journey to the Desert Kingdom. I wish you success, for all our sakes,” the Doge said with quiet precision. He then sat back in his chair and closed his eyes.

  Aware that they’d been dismissed, Charlemagne stood up as Signor Permino emerged from the shadows to lead them back out of the palace with rather unseemly haste.

  As the boat drew away from the quayside, Sharley couldn’t help feeling that something had begun that he couldn’t now stop even if he’d wanted to. Excitement thrilled through his frame, swiftly followed by a rush of fear that almost made him gasp aloud.

  CHAPTER 15

  The deep, flawless blue of the sea was equalled only by that of the sky, and the all-pervading heat struck the back of Sharley’s head like a hammer even through the hat and cotton scarf he wore for protection. Directly ahead he could clearly see a port where dozens of dhows were either being unloaded or standing a little way out
waiting for their turn to dock.

  Beyond the quayside was a bustling town. Sharley could see high towers with finely pointed tops, like the lances of a distant troop of cavalry, soaring out of a shimmering heat haze, and Maggie explained to him that these were minarets, from which the muezzin would call the town’s people to prayer. In the distance, the town climbed a steep hill towards a high defensive wall that was pierced by a single gate and, above that, the hill continued its climb through a land of browny-orange rocks and red dust to a crest high against the blue sky. Sharley couldn’t wait for his ship to dock so that he could begin to explore this exciting new world that lay before him.

  Maggie had finalised arrangements with Captain Al-Khatib, and now he, Sharley, was about to embark on his first mission as a Royal Ambassador, even though it was officially completely unofficial. The Desert People, the Empire’s arch-enemy, had no wish to draw attention to this visit from a Prince of the Icemark. Bellorum needed few excuses to attack a country. This, added to the fact that he could mess everything up, had so horrified Sharley that he’d been unable to sleep for most of the journey.

  Suddenly, orders were shouted and the anchor was hauled up. It was their turn to dock! Sharley ran to the prow of the ship as it slowly nosed its way forward. The closer they got to the quayside, the more the distant specks of the dock-workers began to resolve themselves into recognisable people. He stared at the chaos and bustle below him. Wooden cranes hauled barrels and crates from the holds of ships that lined the dockside, while teams of workers loaded the goods on to waiting carts which then headed off to join the shouting throng of drivers who were all trying to get through the port gates at the same time. The noise was incredible: men shouted, horses neighed, cranes and windlasses groaned and creaked.

  Adding to the general atmosphere of mayhem were crowds of traders on the dockside, trying to sell their wares to the sailors on the ships. Everything from exotic foods to brightly coloured birds and strange creatures like tiny hairy people – which Maggie explained were called monkeys – was being offered for sale.