Redtail grinned with appetite, not humor, and signed in return, *They taste like sea cow, but are harder to chew.* The reply was mirthful in intent, but accurate. Mer did not actively hunt landwalkers, at least not currently, but most had tasted the flesh of men. Not all sailors lost at sea were devoured by sharks.
Sharkbite started to reply when a resonant crack resounded through the water. The two mer looked at one another, instantly recognizing the sound.
*Iron on stone,* Sharkbite signed, pointing his lance to the north. *Landwalkers have dropped an anchor on the reef!*
*Come! We will see what ship stops while the seamage is away.*
They swam northward along the reef, startling a school of yellow-tailed jacks and a stalking barracuda. They ignored the dull-witted predator and continued until they espied a thick anchor rode descending from the bow of a narrow-hulled ship. The huge iron flukes of the anchor were wedged in the rock about a hundred feet down and had not actually touched the reef, but this was still unusual enough to pique their interest. In the days before the arrival of Seamage Flaxal’s Heir, a ship anchoring among the reefs of the Shattered Isles would have been destroyed as a trespasser, but the truce forged between the mer and the seamage forbade them from attacking any ships, much to Redtail’s chagrin.
The two mer rose under the ship and immediately noticed that it was not typical of the vessels they usually saw among the islands. The hull was narrower than that of a cargo ship, shaped for speed instead of capacity. Redtail brushed his scaled fingers across the copper sheathing nailed to the hull.
*It has a metal skin,* he signed to his friend.
Sharkbite drew his bronze dagger and scratched the softer metal. *It is the red metal. Poor for weapons.*
*Yes. Let us see what type of ship this is.*
The two swam up and broke the surface for a quick look, then dove, Redtail’s suspicions confirmed.
*It is a ship of war!* Sharkbite shook his lance in impotent challenge.
*The landwalker armies come to talk to the seamage!*
*We must inform the Trident Holder! The school must decide what to do!*
*We should tell Eelback first, my friend,* Redtail signed, making the gesture for stealth. *He will know how best to tell the Trident Holder of this.* He thrust his short trident toward the southern reef, and the two mer swam off at top speed toward home. Behind them, they heard two smaller boats splash into the water from the deck of the warship.
≈
Camilla watched as two longboats from HIMS Fire Drake, the ship anchored outside the reef, rowed from the hidden channel into Scimitar Bay, escorted by several native dugouts. In each longboat, a squad of garishly uniformed soldiers sat interspersed with common sailors in matching striped shirts. Aboard the second boat, one man stood while all others sat. He wore no uniform but his clothes were rich, and his hat bore so many feathers that Camilla thought it might take flight.
She stood upon the stone pier, having changed into attire suitable for greeting visiting dignitaries. Unlike Cynthia, she disliked wearing a sarong or sparse garments, having been forced for so many years by Bloodwind to wear only the smallest and sheerest of fabrics. Instead, she found a comforting solidity in the thickly padded corset that girded her slim waist. Her dress was simple yet elegant; fashioned of shimmering blue silk, it was not formal or frilly, but beautiful and functional. She sighed when she considered the garb (or lack thereof) of her escort; behind her stood a dozen natives, men and women both, all toting enough weaponry to combat a small uprising.
Or a squad of imperial soldiers, she thought, gauging the grim men crowding the longboats. She looked over her shoulder at her entourage and grimaced.
“Tipos, don’t look so mean!” she said in the native language, swatting the tall ebon-skinned dockmaster at her elbow. “You look like you’re ready to eat them!”
“Maybe I am, Miss Camilla,” he said with a grin, his white teeth flashing like pearls on black silk. “They might be tasty!”
Camilla rolled her eyes at the chuckles from the rest of the escort and braced herself for the arrival of the imperial contingent. Gauging their dour faces, they also looked like they were sporting for a fight.
“This,” she said, smoothing her gown and squaring her shoulders, “should be interesting.”
The longboats docked with military precision, and two natives caught the lines they were thrown and cleated them off without mishap. The first to mount the pier was a sergeant-at-arms bearing a long sword at his hip that no sailor would have worn for fear of being tripped up, and moving with the stiff inflexibility that bespoke of either infirmity or a heavy burden.
He’s wearing mail, she realized with a shock as he was followed up by his equally stiff brethren. They all are! Good Gods, if any of them fell in, they’d sink like stones! Armor seemed like poor protection if it killed you for a simple misstep.
The emissary debarked from the second longboat, followed by two servants bearing packages and several small chests. He strode to the fore, clicked the heels of his polished boots together and doffed his hat, sweeping it in a broad arc as he bowed from the waist before Camilla.
“Mistress Flaxal, I presume. I am Count Emil Norris, of His Imperial Majesty’s Ship Fire Drake, emissary and spokesman for His Imperial Majesty, Tynean Tsing the Third.”
“Pleased to meet you, Count Norris,” Camilla said, stepping forward and extending a hand. He surprised her by stooping to kiss it, his bristly moustache tickling her knuckles. She smiled at the gesture, noting that his jet black hair was not so dark at its roots, and thinning considerably. The man was older than he appeared, and wished to hide the fact. “Unfortunately, I am not Cynthia Flaxal. She departed for Southaven this very morning. My name is Camilla.”
“Departed?” He looked at her like she’d slapped him. “But I’ve— My apologies. I was told that she lived here.”
“You were told correctly, Count Norris, but she does go on excursions occasionally.” She turned and gestured toward the impressive edifice of the keep, carved out of the living rock of the slumbering volcano that had birthed Plume Isle. “Please accept my hospitality in her stead. She plans to return in a fortnight. If you cannot stay that long, please let me assure you that I will relate to her our every word in the strictest confidence.”
“You are her confidant?” He extended his elbow for her and escorted her through the group of natives. She did not miss the nervous glances he cast at the ebon-skinned folk. His entourage and the squad of soldiers followed in close order.
“I am her friend,” she said, cringing as Tipos and his friends followed along on each side of the orderly column, staring at them menacingly. “I am also her business associate, and handle the commercial details for the Flaxal shipping line.”
“Very good, then. We have much to discuss, but I doubt that we will be disposed to stay more than a few days. The emperor expects a report from me by the month end.”
“I am interested to learn what warrants a visit from a warship.”
“The Fire Drake is merely a precaution, Lady Camilla. These islands are rife with cannibals, though I did not know that any resided here in Scimitar Bay.”
Camilla coughed out a laugh, then recovered her composure. “Let me assure you, Count Norris, that my friends here are not cannibals. They live here because they knew Cynthia’s father, Orin Flaxal, and there is a bit of a…well…a mystique about her among them.”
“Well, if you say they are harmless, then I will trust you.”
“Oh, make no mistake, Count, they’re not harmless. Not by any means!” She grinned at his raised eyebrows, thinking that Tipos might actually have known what he was doing in his small show of force. “They’re as friendly as any, but they’ve been fighting for survival against less civilized natives all their lives. Oh, and please give my compliments to the captain of the Fire Drake. He was quite correct to anchor outside the reef. I will have a pilot assist if you wish to bring her into Scimitar Bay.”
> “I believe the captain has orders to keep the ship outside, for safety reasons, but I will relate your compliments.”
“Thank you, and tell him to have a care where he places his ground tackle. Sand or rock is fine, but damaging coral is not a good idea in the Shattered Isles.”
“Why is that?” he asked, raising one eyebrow in apparently honest curiosity. “I am not a nautical man, but from what I understand, it is very good holding to place an anchor in coral.”
“That it may be, but the mer do not take kindly to having it torn up by ships’ anchors.”
“The mer?” His laugh caught her off guard, both in its volume and derisive tone. “Why would anyone have a care what merfolk like or dislike?”
“Trust me on this, Count Norris,” she said, fixing his eyes with hers and painting on her most ingratiating smile. “When a thousand of them swarm over the side of your ship in the middle of the night to seek retribution for the damage you have done to their home, you will care.”
“I will inform the captain,” he said with a curt nod. “It is our furthest wish, of all things, to provoke the…uh…” he lowered his voice and leaned close to whisper, “aboriginal folk.”
The two ascended the palace steps in silence, each thinking that they had a great deal to learn.
Chapter Three
Negotiations
Trident Holder Broadtail left his home grotto in a foul mood. Brooding finlings was an unpleasant chore and he was both hungry and tired, but his irritation stemmed from the interruption. He glared at the four mer impatiently awaiting his attention, and clapped his mouth open and closed a few times both to show his displeasure and to stretch his aching jaw muscles. Freshly hatched finlings were held in the mouth and fed partially digested food until old enough to eat fish flesh. It was a stressful task, but one he took great care with; these were, after all, his offspring.
*If this is not an emergency, Eelback, I will chop off your tail and feed it to my brood.* All four mer looked worried. The red-tailed female, Slickfin, shuddered from her waist down, abashed — a sign of submission.
*It is an emergency, Trident Holder. Seamage Flaxal’s Heir has summoned a warship from the great city of the landwalkers!* Eelback’s tail thrashed urgently, wafting currents forward. *She builds alliances with those who would destroy us.*
*A warship?* Broadtail clapped his gills closed and fluttered his fins in a sudden rush of worry. *Where is it? How do you know that she summoned it?* He clapped his mouth again; the water tasted strange but vaguely familiar. It added to his discomfort, stoking his emotions like the forge of a blademage.
*The ship is anchored just outside the canyon that leads to her lagoon, the place where she builds more ships and lets her landwalker friends swim and take food from the reef! She must have summoned the ship! No ship comes into the shallows of the archipelago without her leave. And they anchored properly, obviously at her request.*
*But she is not even there. Tailwalker told me only two tides ago that she has taken her greatest ship to the landwalker city of her birth.* Broadtail’s eyes narrowed. Something did not make sense, but he was too upset to figure out exactly what it was. *Chaser is following her. There is no question that she is not on her island.*
*Yes, Trident Holder, she goes to the land of her birth, but did your eldest son tell you why?* Redtail’s comment caught Broadtail off guard, and he shook his head to clear his tumultuous temper.
*Tailwalker did not give me her exact reasons. Something about visiting friends.*
*The seamage has dangerous friends, Trident Holder,* Eelback signed, edging closer and agitating the waters so they swirled around Broadtail. *She goes to visit a worker of magic. He is a master of elements, as is she, but his element is fire!*
*That’s ridiculous! How do you know this, when my own eldest son does not?*
*Tailwalker and his friend Quickfin do know this,* Eelback signed, grinning his anger at Broadtail. *They decided not to inform you of it!*
Before Broadtail could even reply, Redtail added, *Undoubtedly, Trident Holder, they only sought to spare you upset in your time of weaning your finlings. We are not suggesting that your eldest would have ulterior motives by keeping this information from you. After all, he is destined not only to bear the trident of your office one day, but also to wed the seamage, is he not?*
*If you are suggesting—*
*We suggest nothing, Trident Holder,* Eelback interrupted, interposing himself between Redtail and the elder mer. *We only bring you information. The entire school must be informed, however, that a landwalker warship has entered our territory. When the dolphin befriends the shark, the sea lion should take notice!*
*Inform them, then, Eelback, but keep your proverbs and your theories to yourself. If I learn that the whole school has been fed your ideas, your flanks will feed my finlings! Do you understand?*
*I understand, Trident Holder,* he signed, ducking his head in subservience.
*Good! I will call the school together in five tides. Now, I must return to my mate before she becomes impatient and swallows one of our children.* He made an uneasy sign of dismissal and returned to his grotto.
Eelback nodded to Slickfin and Redtail, and smiled his pleasure. *Let us go inform the school of these events. But before we go, please, Slickfin, give Trident Holder a parting gift.*
*With pleasure, my love,* she signed, swimming a lazy circle over Broadtail’s grotto. Her lower body shuddered as she passed the vent holes in the coral. A thin milky liquid dispersed in the water as she flipped her tail — invisible, but potent in its effect.
The three males turned to join her as she returned, their gill slits fluttering in mer laughter.
≈
The light of a hundred candles flickered from four golden candelabra, glinting upon an impressive array of silver and fine bone porcelain. The great table was arrayed in all the finery of a king’s ransom in pirate treasure and the finest foods that Camilla’s staff could prepare: turtle soup, baked fish and grilled oysters, a roast suckling pig, and platters of tropical fruits and vegetables. The wines, in cut crystal goblets, were excellent, imported from Cynthia’s private cellar in Southaven.
Despite the sumptuous array of food and drink, Camilla ate sparingly.
This room had been changed least with the refurbishment of the palace, and Camilla had spent too many years standing while others sat, fasting while others gorged, and dancing while others laughed at her torment, to relax here.
Aside from that, her guests had her nerves on edge and her defenses on high alert, although none could tell by looking at her. Camilla wore a gown of sea-green silk embroidered in gold, her hair artfully coiffed and set with emerald pins. She maintained a calm, smiling countenance in her seat at the head of the table. Count Norris, as emissary from the emperor, sat in the place of honor to her right. On her left sat the two men who seemed to accompany him everywhere: the sergeant at arms, a career military man named Torrance; and the count’s private secretary, Mr. Huffington, a bespectacled and silent fellow who ate as sparingly as she.
“I must compliment you on the table you set, Lady Camilla,” Norris said for the fifth time as he sampled another spicy grilled oyster and followed it with a sip of blood-red wine.
“Thank you again, Count Norris,” she said, lifting her glass, more to be polite than from thirst. She sipped very carefully; it would serve to keep her wits about her with this man. Although he seemed to accept and, indeed, expect her finest as his due, his eyes missed nothing as they surveyed the keep and its occupants. He also seemed to think that he could flatter her into obsequience, as if she was some guileless lady of the court, but Camilla had lived by her wits too long to be so easily manipulated.
“I fear the fare does not quite match the finery, but we do our best for the few guests we receive here. Though I daresay Sergeant Torrance has put a fair dint in the stores.” She smiled and raised her glass again to take the sting from her jest.
“Far bet
ter fare than I’m used to, milady,” the sergeant said with a stiff propriety that Camilla found unsettling. “I never had these little sea creatures before, but they’re very tasty.”
“Sergeant Torrance is used to navy food, Lady Camilla, so any fare that is not crawling with weevils or soaked in brine would be richer than his usual. We must be careful that we do not spoil him for the service.”
“Alas, you have uncovered my plot, my dear Count. I intended to seduce your soldiers into my service with food and wine.” She chuckled politely, while the count and Sergeant Torrance laughed more than was probably warranted. The secretary, Mr. Huffington, merely smiled, his thin lips pressing together until they blanched white. There was something about the man that made Camilla’s skin itch, as if his gaze were a bit too calculating, his manner a little too submissive. “Are you stationed permanently on the Fire Drake, then, sergeant?”
“Aye, milady, but we ain’t common soldiers, as you might suspect.” He stuffed a small slice of roast pork into his mouth and chewed while he continued. “The emperor himself commissioned a special arm of the service, fighting men to serve on ships.”
“Really! That’s fascinating,” she lied, painting on a mien of interest. Evasion and flattery were among the many skills she had mastered during her years as Bloodwind’s slave. “Do you see many battles, then? With the Tsing Empire at peace, life for a soldier on a ship must be rather boring.”
“Life for a soldier is defined as boredom punctuated by moments of unrepressed mayhem,” the count said, raising his glass to the sergeant. “And Sergeant Torrance would have you know, though he is perhaps too polite to say it, that the men in his arm of the service are referred to as ‘marines’, not soldiers.”
“Marines? Hm…I like the sound of that. You must be very proud, Sergeant.”
“Thank you, milady, and yes, I’m very proud of my service, and my men. And peace is never quite as peaceful as a civilian might think.”
Scimitar Sun Page 4
