“Ha!” Rowland grabbed her apron and pulled her into his long bony arms. “She barely lets me set foot in her kitchen anymore, and she’s stolen all my best knives!”
“If you don’t want to see one of those knives up close, you old bean boiler, you’ll let me go this instant!” She swatted at him and scowled with little rancor while Feldrin and Brolan laughed at them. Rowland finally let her go, bumping the table hard enough to rattle the dishes, and Marta sat down. “It’s a wonder I have a single cup and saucer without a crack in them, with your antics!”
“So,” Brolan said when their mirth had subsided, “you gonna go see Miss Cynthia straight away, or are you stayin’ for a spell.”
“The Keelsons are doing some work on the Pride that’ll take a couple of days, but I’ll be headin’ off to Plume when it’s finished.” He signed and shrugged his sore shoulder. “Been away too long, and I want to be there when she…well, when the baby’s born.”
“And right you should be, Feldrin!” Marta scolded. “It would be nothing new for a sea captain to be away when his child is born, but I don’t think Cynthia would like it if you weren’t there. She’s due in barely six weeks, you know.”
“Aye, and I thought to come sooner, but I got caught up in things down south. Marathia’s a dangerous place still, and pirates ain’t the only hazard.”
“Oh?” Rowland’s bushy eyebrows arched as he sipped his ale. “So you don’t plan on goin’ back?”
“I wore out my welcome. Oh, and you should warn all the other schooner captains ya see to beware in those waters; the new sultan’s very interested in acquirin’ one of Cynthia’s ships.”
“Did he make you an offer?”
“Oh, aye! Almost an offer I couldn’t turn down.” He drew his thumb across his throat with a hissing sound, drawing a gasp from Marta and wide-eyed stares from Brolan and Rowland. He decided not to mention the offer that the princess had made. “He wanted to take the Pride apart, duplicate her plank for plank, and outfit a whole fleet as warships.”
“And you talked him out of it?” Brolan asked.
“I made him a deal,” Feldrin said, serious as stone. “He got to keep his city, and I got to keep my ship. But a merchant captain without the Pride’s armament might not be able to do the same. I’d hate to see one of Cynthia’s schooners burned to the waterline if that hot-head decides to try to take it. Which reminds me, I need to talk to the lightkeeper about gettin’ more of them fire casks. We used a few down south.” He finished his ale and pushed himself up from the table.
“Well, mayhap you can find out a little more about this apprentice he’s sent off with your lady,” Marta put in, reaching for the dishes, only to have Rowland whisk them away from her. “Careful you!”
“You’ll be back fer supper, Captain?” Brolan asked, standing and stretching his lanky frame.
“I wouldn’t miss it, Brolan, and I think a trip down to the Starfish after would be appropriate. Brulo would start spreadin’ rumors about me if I didn’t pay my respects. You’ll all join me?”
“Oh, aye, if the lady love will let me out of the house.” Rowland smiled at Marta’s scowl.
“Let you out of the house? And what makes you think that I’m not coming along?”
“Oh, nothing, dear,” Rowland said stifling his mirth. “Nothing at all.”
≈
“Time to go, Farin,” Sam said, kicking the soles of the first mate’s boots.
He came awake with a start and a dagger in his hand, glaring at her and loosing a scalding stream of profanity. “You touch me with yer foot one more time, little lady, and I’ll teach you some manners!”
“Calm down, Farin. You can sleep on the ship. Get yer sea bag packed.” Her bag was already at her side, and she had changed from her finery to common sailor garb, dirtied her face on purpose, and tied her hair back in customary sailor fashion.
“I’m sleepin’ because I been up the last four nights spreadin’ foolish stories about the seamage, you little rat, while you’ve been pooh-poohing it with high society. And what’n the hells are you talkin’ about gettin’ packed? We only been here four days.” He rubbed his eyes and took in her appearance, then straightened as if realizing that she was serious.
“People are askin’ too many questions. The caps are curious about who’s been talkin’ so much about the seamage. It’s time we left, before they figure out I ain’t no fine lady, and I didn’t come here on one of the sea witch’s ships.” She hefted her sea bag and nodded to his.
“Why would the caps give a flying fish fart who was sayin’ what about the sea bitch?” He rolled off the plain straw pallet and scratched himself, yawning wide.
“Seems some count was aboard that warship that was anchored at Plume Isle. He was sent down there to talk to her and now he’s come back with all kinds of stories of his own.” She kicked a sweat-sodden shirt toward him, remembering the uncomfortable conversation she’d had with a doddering old duchess. The insufferable woman had mentioned the count’s name, but somehow Sam couldn’t remember it. “Anyway, now the chief constable’s curious, so get yer gear together, unless you want to inspect the accommodations in the local lockup from the inside.”
“Right.” He fumbled with his bag, stuffing clothes into it without much care as to whether they were clean, dirty or even his own. The remnants of a few late-night romps lay strewn about his room, a fact that did not evade Sam’s astute eye. “By the way, I heard one of my own stories come back to me last night, and they’ve got even richer. There’s more rumors about the Flaxal wench flyin’ around the bars o’ this city than there are rats in the sewers.”
“Good. That’s just what we want.” She wrinkled her nose. Maybe her short time as a “lady” had accustomed her to finer surroundings, or maybe Farin was simply a pig. “By the time we get back to the Cutthroat, the good emperor will be up to his furry eyebrows with demands from every shipping interest in Tsing to do something.”
“And when he does, we’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”
“Exactly!”
Chapter Fifteen
Rumors Revealed
Cynthia waved from the pier as Seven Sisters eased up to one of the permanent mooring buoys she’d placed in Scimitar Bay. Several hands waved back, but the captain was too busy to pay her much attention at the moment. Only when all was secure and the beamy galleon swung lazily on her mooring, did the mate point out to his master that their mistress was waiting. In minutes a boat had been lowered and a four-man crew was rowing the captain to shore.
“Good morning, Captain Trengal,” she called as the launch pulled up at the pier. “I didn’t mean to rush you.”
“Ah, no matter, Mistress Flaxal,” the man said as he climbed the ladder. He finally stood on the pier and shook her hand, barely her height and nearly as round-bellied, his skin as dark as midnight. He wiped his bald pate with a handkerchief as his white teeth flashed a smile that looked forced. “My mate knows his business well enough.”
“Will you need space at the pier or the shipyard this visit?” she asked, wondering what had him upset. Trengal was the most even-tempered captain she’d ever known; he liked his job, his ship, his crew and his pay as well as he liked a good meal. In all the years he had sailed a Flaxal ship, she’d never seen him force a smile.
“We’re not off-loading any cargo this time, Mistress. I’m headed for Fornice, loaded with good northern wine and a few sundries. We stopped in Tsing to see if we could trade up some, but it didn’t happen. Oh, I got two cases of that Copper Hills Red you fancy, a case of Northumberland Single Malt that Dura asked for and some bolts of silk for Miss Camilla.”
“Excellent! I’m sure Dura will be happy about that; she’s been complaining that her stash was nearly gone. Will you join me for a cool drink and some shade?” she asked, guiding him toward the keep, eager to hear any news he might have from the north.
“Oh, aye, and thank you,” he said, offering her his arm with obvious discomfort at her
condition. “I didn’t mean to have you walk all the way down here to meet me. I just thought to stop for a bit of a chat, to empty my strongbox and drop off those items.”
“I’ll have Cammy collect the money and have a look at the ship’s books. Tipos can run a launch out for the rest,” she said, accepting his aid with a smile. “If you’re not carrying perishables, why don’t you stay the night and let your crew come ashore. We can chat over lunch, and I’d like to have you and your officers up for dinner. I’d be very interested in any news from Tsing.”
“I appreciate the hospitality, Mistress,” he said, “but to tell you the truth, I don’t think you’ll like what I’ve got to tell you. There’ve been rumors about you flyin’ around Tsing like bats from a belfry.”
“I have no doubt there are,” she said with a chuckle, “and I want to hear all of them. Maybe I can put some of them to rest.”
“That was what I was hopin’, Mistress,” he said with a deep breath as they mounted the steps. “Well, first let me tell you, yer schooners have turned heads in every harbor all the way north to Fengotherond…”
≈
“Count Norris has arrived, Your Majesty,” the emperor’s secretary announced, subtly blocking the count’s entry into the chamber, though he could see beyond the diminutive fellow into the small conference room and the long table strewn with papers, cups and books. Several seats at the table were occupied and Emperor Tynean sat at its head. His dress was less-than-resplendent: a linen shirt, its sleeves rolled up to the elbow.
“Ah, good! Bring him in at once, Moushi,” the emperor said. The secretary swung the door wide and nodded politely to the count, motioning for him to enter. “Perhaps he can shed light on these affairs.”
“Affairs, Majesty?” Norris approached and bowed deeply. As he rose, he took in the somber faces all looking to him. He had met Chief Constable Voya once or twice, a contentious woman of perhaps forty years and peasant birth who had ascended the ranks of the constabulary through, some said, rather ruthless means. Of the others at the table, he knew only Commodore Twig, commander of the emperor’s home fleet, and Admiral Joslan, ranking officer of the emperor’s entire navy. The three other men he had never met; two wore courtly garb and the third, an older dark-skinned fellow, wore a yellow robe and red sash.
“The affairs concerning the Shattered Isles, this seamage, Cynthia Flaxal, your recent report, and the rumors that are spreading around the city like the plague, good Count. Rumors that paint a very ugly picture of the seamage indeed, some of which mirror your report to a startling degree.” The emperor’s mien was serious, but not quite angry. “Take a chair, Count, and tell Us that these rumors did not originate with you.”
“I assure Your Majesty that they did not!” He sat, trying not to stare at the fellow in the yellow robe; he could be a worker of magic, able to detect the slightest lie. “I have also heard some of the recent talk. The report I presented to you has been kept confidential, but military men, both sailors and marines, accompanied me to Plume Isle. Perhaps these rumors originated there.”
“None of the Emperor’s Navy would ever betray — ” Admiral Joslan fell silent at the emperor’s raised hand.
“If I may, Majesty,” the chief constable said, “the source of the rumors that originated around the waterfront may have been a sailor or marine. The talk among the court has been traced to a single woman, a Miss Samantha, though we have been unable to find her.”
Count Norris’ stomach flipped when he heard the name, but he quickly dismissed his misgivings; Samantha was a common name, and his Samantha had been dead for more than three years.
“An agent?” the man in yellow robes asked, raising one dark eyebrow.
“If she is, she’s not very subtle,” Voya said with a smirk.
“And no one’s seen her recently?” The man scowled.
“Not for several days, Master Keshwani. She’s vanished.”
“Well, that alone leads me to think that she was working for someone,” Keshwani said.
“She apparently told several people that she had recently travelled through the Shattered Isles to Tsing aboard a Flaxal ship, but the harbormaster could not confirm it. There’s only been one Flaxal line ship through the port in the last month, and Seven Sisters was headed south.” Voya finished her report and leaned back in her chair.
“If she was lying about that, Majesty, we can probably assume that the other rumors were also fabricated.”
“You seem convinced of a conspiracy, Master Keshwani.” The emperor scowled, but the man just shrugged.
“Conspiracy? Not at all, Majesty. But when a flurry of unsubstantiated rumors follows confidential reports from both Count Norris and myself, I suspect that information has been leaked from within our circle of confidence. From the sound of it, the person leaking the information has ulterior motives.” His gaze slid sideways toward Count Norris, paused a moment, then passed on.
“Sir!” Norris snapped, stiffening in his seat. “If you are accusing me of — ”
“No one is accusing anyone, Count Norris,” the emperor said placidly. “Let us discuss the facts we know to be true, and decide upon a course of action.”
They all murmured in the affirmative, though Norris still levied a suspicious glance at Keshwani. He knew he had not started the rumors, but he also had not quelled any that he heard, even when several courtiers had come to him for confirmation. Secretly, he wondered if Huffington had taken it upon himself to aid his master’s endeavors, but he wasn’t about to mention that suspicion here.
“We know that Cynthia Flaxal is an entity of considerable power in the region of the Shattered Isles,” the emperor said. “She has, without a doubt, ended a lengthy and costly reign of terror perpetrated by a band of pirates that made their lair upon Plume Isle, the very island she now claims as her home. She has used the pirates’ fortune to build a number of ships, these schooners that have raised so many eyebrows in shipping circles. Are We correct so far?”
They all murmured confirmation, and he continued.
“Count Norris recently visited the island. He did not meet with Mistress Flaxal directly, but he reported that her position was fortified and manned by a well-armed contingent of…aboriginal folk.” He cleared his throat and continued. “Furthermore, he procured a copy of these plans,” he indicated the stolen prototype drawings, “which Master Tomlyn here assures me are of no design that he is familiar with.”
“Nothing I’ve ever seen, Majesty,” Tomlyn confirmed. The thin, nervous-looking man was one of the emperor’s naval architects. Norris repressed a smile, pleased that the sovereign had followed his suggestion.
“Consultation with Admiral Joslan and Commodore Twig confirmed that these ships would be small but fast, and very stable. And that they could be employed as warships.”
“Yes, Majesty,” the admiral admitted with a skeptical frown. “Though they couldn’t stand up to much in the way of damage, not like a real warship.”
“Noted. Now, We have received several missives from Mistress Flaxal.” He nodded to Norris, who maintained his composure without difficulty. “She relates her regrets that she was not there to meet with you personally, Count Norris, and she assures Us that she and her people are loyal subjects of the Empire of Tsing.”
“One can hardly expect her to say otherwise, Majesty,” Twig said. He wore a scowl honed by decades of experience as a naval officer.
“Quite, Commodore, but she also states that she knew naught of Our interest in her or her new ship designs until Count Norris’ visit, and that she would be more than willing to — how did she put it?” He moved a page on the table top and scanned the one beneath it. “Ah, yes, ‘show any and all of my current ship designs to Your representatives, including those of my most recent prototype vessel, a variant of an outrigger canoe, and my recently launched three-masted schooner, Peggy’s Dream.’”
“A three-masted schooner?” Admiral Joslan asked, eyebrows arching.
“Yes, Admiral. She stresses that all her designs, except for this new two-hulled experiment, are intended solely as merchantmen, and that she has no intention nor need to produce an armed naval force of her own. She states, ‘a naval force of my own would not only be costly, but superfluous.’”
Scoffs and outright laughter broke out, but not from the chief constable, the emperor or Count Norris.
“That is exactly what her representative told me, Majesty,” Norris said stonily, “almost to the letter.”
“Yes, which in and of itself We find curious.” The emperor leveled his gaze at Norris, but the count met it without a hint of the trepidation he felt. “Now, We come to the very recent arrival of Master Keshwani, Our representative in Fornice, with a report that a schooner of Flaxal design has been acting as an armed privateer under the Marathian flag along the Sand Coast. This has caused Us further concern.”
Murmurs of surprise and shock circulated around the table. The Tsing Empire currently had no diplomatic connection to Marathia; the recent coup and ensuing violence had been deemed too dangerous for an ambassador to remain in Terokesh. Trade had been interrupted, and only now were a few ships daring to enter Marathian ports.
“If the seamage is supplying Marathia with warships — ”
“One privateer, Admiral,” Keshwani interrupted, “does not constitute a fleet. This could be an isolated incident. But this one schooner took at least six pirate ships in only three months. Four of the ships were captured intact, hauled back to Terokesh and given to the sultan. The other two ships were burned to the waterline. The schooner employed an incendiary device that was quite effective.”
The emperor levelled a stare around the table. “Taking these facts into consideration with the recent spate of rumors, We feel that sending another emissary to Plume Isle is warranted. Does anyone have any reason why this might not be a wise course of action?”
Scimitar Sun Page 18
