Camilla opened her mouth to speak, but the crowd behind her suddenly quivered and parted, and the thick juggernaut of the shipwright’s foreman, Dura, barreled forward.
“Yer bloody right some bloody plans went missin’, and ye know it damn well ye trumped up — ”
Camilla put out a forestalling hand. “Now, Dura, please don’t say anything that — ”
“I’ll do more’n bloody say it, I’ll beat the truth out of the bloody thief!”
Dura brushed aside Camilla’s hand and advanced on the count, who stood firm, glaring contemptuously at her. He was supremely confident that the marines would protect him, and their immediate response to the dwarf’s threat did not surprise him. Steel sang free of Lieutenant Garris’ scabbard, and a barked command from the marine commander brought every sword in the entire party out with a single ringing note. The tip of the lieutenant’s cutlass stopped the dwarf’s advance, resting on her barrel chest.
What did surprise him was his opponents’ swift and unexpected reaction. One of the natives jerked Camilla back and stepped to the fore, his dark wooden club flashing up at Norris’ throat. The weapon stopped before it struck, a wedge of glittering obsidian as long as a man’s hand resting behind the count’s right ear, the needle tip just touching the skin over the pulsing artery. From the band of natives rose a small forest of spears, their points glistening in the wan light, leveled at the marines.
Norris’ blood ran cold; the marines would not be able to protect him. If blood spilled here, his would likely be the first. Also, he and his twenty stood with their backs against the water, and swords against spears was not a healthy match with no room to maneuver.
“Chula! Don’t!” Camilla shouted, clutching the towering native by his thickly muscled arm.
“Not to worry, Miss Cammy. I’ll not be de first ta strike.” The man’s eyes bore into those of the young lieutenant, and his lips spread back from teeth that seemed to glow white against his ebony skin. “But dis here boy drew his steel on Miss Dura, and she all defenseless, wi’out a blade or not’in’. I jus’ t’ought I’d even de odds a bit.”
“Defenseless!” the dwarf bristled, glaring at the lieutenant as if there was not a sword at her throat. “I’ll show this laddie defenseless when I take that pig sticker away from ‘im and stick it up his arse!”
“Would everyone please calm down!” a new voice cried as a tall figure pushed through the crowd of natives. Slim hands pushed aside the spears, and Norris noted the man’s graceful features and slightly pointed ears. “Dura, step back! Chula, please lower your weapon. We are not going to start a fight with the emperor’s own representatives!”
“And we,” Norris began, finding his voice again as the weapon at his throat lowered, “are merely here to speak with Cynthia Flaxal, who seems to once again be away on some mysterious business. Lieutenant Garris, thank you for your defense, but if you would please sheathe your sword perhaps we can see if there is a diplomatic solution here.”
“As you say, milord Count,” the officer said, snapping his cutlass back into its scabbard. The marine commander gave an order and his men lowered, but did not sheathe, their weapons.
“You speak of diplomacy, Count Norris, but you bring an army.” Camilla had collected herself and stood at the side of the tall half-elf. “May I introduce Master Ghelfan, the shipwright in the employ of Mistress Flaxal. You already know Dura, his yard boss, and this is Chula, first mate of Peggy’s Dream, the schooner here beside you.”
“Master Ghelfan, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. Your worthy reputation was discussed at length at court. And let me assure you, Lady Camilla,” Norris added with a sardonic smile, “this force is but a small detachment to ensure the safety of our diplomatic contingent. His Majesty’s flagship Clairissa, which waits offshore, is quite capable of deploying a much more significant force, should the need arise.” He nodded significantly toward the beaches, where throngs of natives bristling with weapons milled impatiently around the launches and their crews. They outnumbered the marines and sailors two-to-one, and although many were women and some were literally children, they all bore spears, bows and clubs. Norris’ first reflex was to dismiss their threat, but decided he’d best not underestimate any potential danger again.
“Perhaps we should all relax a little and step into the keep where we can discuss this rationally,” Ghelfan suggested, his calm tone taking the edge off his words. “Would you be our guest for breakfast, milord Count? You may bring your officers and as many soldiers as you feel necessary for your own safety.”
“We would be delighted, Master Ghelfan. Thank you for the invitation.” The count nodded to the lieutenant and the marine commander, indicating that they should accompany him. “I would enjoy nothing more in the world than to sit a meal with the charming Lady Camilla, having already experienced her generous hospitality.” He extended his arm to her, pasting on his patent diplomatic smile, ready to play his role as appreciative guest.
“We would be delighted to have you as our guests, milord Count,” Camilla replied, placing a hand on his arm, a poised smile on her face, playing her own role as accommodating host. “And let me assure you that Mistress Flaxal will return very shortly, possibly as early as tomorrow.”
“Excellent! Then, perhaps, we can get this misunderstanding straightened out.” The entire crowd of natives, sailors, marines and diplomats moved as a single body up the pier. The lieutenant muttered a few commands to his subordinates even as the surly dwarf Dura grumbled in dwarvish, words that Emil Norris had no doubt, if translated, would have a significant impact on the diplomatic discussion.
≈
“All ashore, who’s goin’ ashore!” Horace called jovially as Edan followed Cynthia into the longboat. “Or crazy as a bedbug in a burnin’ house,” he added in a whisper that might just have reached the young man’s ears.
“Belay that!” Feldrin snapped, glaring at his mate before descending the ladder into the boat. Cynthia had calmed the seas around the ship, and the boat barely rocked when he stepped aboard. “We’ll be back in just a shake or two, Horace, but keep a sharp eye.”
“Aye, Captain!” Horace said, ordering the line tenders to cast off.
“Oars out,” Feldrin ordered, shoving off from the ship and taking the coxswain’s seat, tiller in hand. “On the mark, lads, stroke.”
Four oars touched the placid water and the longboat surged forward as if it were being rowed by a dozen men. A few gasped in surprise, but the rest just laughed. Cynthia was helping them.
“Easy there, lass. Don’t get too much headway on her.” Feldrin fought the tiller for a moment before straightening out the launch, but felt like his effort was for naught. He tried to ignore the odd feeling that the boat was being manhandled by something beneath the surface.
“No worries, Feldrin.” Cynthia trailed a hand in the water. All about them, the surface became as still as a mill pond and as clear as crystal. Great jagged boulders lay scattered on the seabed of black sand below them, threatening to tear the bottom out of the longboat should they venture too close. The boat moved quickly, much more quickly than Feldrin desired, but he had faith in Cynthia’s ability to avoid obstacles, and managed not to cringe visibly. “I’ll bring us in. You may as well have them stow oars.”
“You heard the lady. Stow yer oars.” The four oarsmen slipped their locks and brought their oars up to vertical as the longboat surged through the shallow water, not even leaving a wake in its passage.
“Smooth as silk,” one of the crewmen muttered, eying the razor-sharp points of lava rock hemming them in on both sides as they entered a sheltered cove.
“Bloody uncanny it is,” another said, peering over the side as they skirted a crag of rock.
“Thank you,” Cynthia acknowledged briefly before her eyes glazed with concentration. She brought the longboat to an easy stop, the gunwale no more than two inches from the rock ledge. “Nice to know my talents are appreciated. Edan, I believe this i
s your port of call.”
The young man stood uneasily, his arms out to maintain his balance, but the boat remained as steady as stone. He turned to her and smiled his gratitude. Flicker grinned from his shoulder as she looked up at the burning mountain, quite recovered from the previous night’s ordeal. “Thank you, Mistress Flaxal.” He stepped ashore easily, his narrow shoulders firming with the stone under his feet. “I’ll try to be back here by sunset, though it might be a bit later.”
“We’ll be watching for you, Edan,” she said as she extended her hand to him. “May Phekkar favor you today, and may you remember the rapture of your ascension.”
“Thank you.” He awkwardly grasped her hand, a nervous smile stretching his pale features. Then he turned and headed up the slope, picking his way carefully along the twisted incline of heat-blasted rock.
Cynthia sat and nodded to Feldrin. “I’ll take us back. No need to bother with the oars.”
“Aye, lass,” he agreed absently. As the launch surged forward, skirting the protruding ledges and crags, Feldrin looked back at the receding form of the young man who was going to walk into the volcano. “Bloody mad,” he muttered. “Mad as a hatter with his hair on fire.”
≈
The sound of iron striking fragile coral traveled far under the surface of the waves, and ears more sensitive than human or mer were trained to respond to that distinctive clash. The sailors on the deck of the Fire Drake thought it a good omen when a pod of four dolphins raced toward their recently anchored ship, seeming to play and frolic around them before streaking off to the northeast. They could not have been more wrong.
The four dolphin sentries arrived at the home of the mer only a quarter hour after the Fire Drake’s anchors crashed into the fragile reef, and their message to their masters was a simple one: danger, come see. By midmorning all the mer knew that two ships had anchored near Plume Isle, and that one, a warship, had anchored in coral, damaging the fragile reef. They also knew that a third ship, the largest warship any mer had ever seen, stood off shore, hanging in place like a huge, hungry barracuda.
Eelback could not believe his good fortune.
*This is perfect,* he signed to Redtail as he and his three staunchest allies swam toward the Trident Holder’s audience grotto. *The seamage is away, and with her the Trident Holder’s son and that troublesome Quickfin. Our time is now!*
*But if the seamage is not here, how can we proceed?* Redtail asked, trying to keep his signs covert as they passed a milling school of mer. He need not have worried; the school was so agitated with the news that they would not have noticed a sea drake swimming past.
*She will come,* Eelback signed, his confidence as plain as a cloud of ink in the water. *Today is the day the moon will eat the sun, the day she told us her new ally will become a firemage. Tomorrow she will return to find these warships at the entrance to her grotto, and we will be there as well.*
*Timing will be difficult,* Slickfin signed as she swam between the two males, her smooth flanks brushing Eelback’s. *How will we ensure that both will happen at the same time?*
*We will prolong the discussion until it is too late to act today, then we will argue that preparations need to be made for such a confrontation. Dawn is obviously the best time for the school to strike.*
*It is?* Sharkbite swam up to them, his broad brow drawn into a quizzical V. *Why?*
*Watch and learn, my large friend,* Eelback signed, his lips drawing back from his teeth. *When I am through presenting the facts to the Trident Holder, not only will The Voice find in our favor, but I will be placed in command of the school!*
Redtail’s fins fluttered in amusement, for he knew that Eelback was right. When all had been signed and the school invoked The Voice, Eelback would get exactly what he wanted.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sun and Moon, Father and Son
“We will anchor our ships wherever we wish within our own empire!” Count Norris asserted. His tone was flat and authoritarian, the tone he used to end discussions.
“Does the Emperor’s domain include all the lands under the seas as well as those above, milord Count?” Camilla countered, her tone just as flat. She nodded to the server to take away her untouched breakfast; the food had long gone cold while they traded words. In fact, it was very near time for lunch, and from the lax postures and disconsolate expressions of everyone at the table, they had long since given up hope of any kind of a rational discussion. Camilla sighed. “As I told you during your first visit, bringing warships into the mer’s territory, and especially dropping anchors onto the coral reef, is a direct provocation. You very well may have sealed your own fate.”
“My fate, Lady Camilla, is to make the wishes of His Majesty, Tynean Tsing the Third, known to Cynthia Flaxal, and then, barring any difficulties with her, to open diplomatic relations with the merfolk.” He sipped his blackbrew, and frowned with distaste; it was cold. “If the mer are so easily offended that they become violent simply because we damage a bit of rock with our anchors, we will instruct them that violence against His Majesty’s Navy is not an acceptable means of negotiation.”
“Are you trying to start a war with the mer?” she asked.
“That’s exactly what he wants!” Dura muttered around a mouthful of cold meat and cheese; her appetite seemed the only one to remain undiminished. “And not just wi’ the merfolk, methinks.”
“Of course not!” he snapped. He scowled at Dura, then sat back and jerked his waistcoat straight, gathering his composure. “We are trying to make His Majesty’s wishes known to you and, when she arrives, Mistress Flaxal. If we reach an accord with her, then we will attempt to reason with the mer, which will require that the seamage act as intermediary.”
“Milord Count,” Camilla sat ramrod straight, glaring at him across the table, “If a race of flying creatures descended from the sky to drop great metal hooks into the midst of the city of Tsing, what type of peaceful agreement do you think His Majesty would be willing to reach?”
“We do not require an agreement with the mer, nor with Mistress Flaxal, or you, for that matter! What we require is capitulation to His Majesty’s wishes. If you do not find that palatable, you will find the consequences to be much less so.”
“Please, Count Norris, Camilla,” Ghelfan pleaded, exhaustion edging his musical voice. “This discussion, if one might stretch one’s imagination to call it that, is getting us nowhere. Perhaps it would be best if we were to simply wait for Cynthia’s return, then renew these nego — ”
“Miss Cammy! Miss Cammy!” a shrill voice called from the hall just before the great doors were thrust open. Tim raced into the great hall, his face alight, his arms waving in excitement. “It’s happening! It’s happening just like Mistress said it would!” He raced up to her without so much as glancing at the rest of the table, while Camilla put her forehead in one hand and shook her head.
“Please, Tim, this is not the time to — ”
The count’s chair clattered over backward and he shot to his feet, his eyes wide in shock and his face as pale as the linen tablecloth.
“What is the meaning of this!” He stumbled back a step and nearly fell over his upended chair. His accusing glare raked the table settling upon Camilla and Ghelfan.
“Milord Count?” Lieutenant Garris said, staring up at the stricken man. “Are you quite all right?”
“I’m sorry, milord Count, Tim is just excited about — ”
“Oh! I’m sorry!” Tim turned to face the count and nodded politely. “My apologies, Father. I didn’t mean to — ” His voice faded with a squeak of astonishment.
“Timothy?” the count whispered, his own voice trembling. “Can it really…”
Everyone in the room stared at the boy, then at Count Norris.
Tim finally broke the silence.
“Papa!” he cried, launching himself at the stunned count and flinging his arms around the man’s waist. He pressed his tear-streaked face against the c
ount’s embroidered waistcoat.”Papa! Papa!”
“Timothy? Is it really you?” Norris’ arms slowly encircled the boy, his hands trembling in the long, sun-streaked hair. It had been more than three years…three years that he thought his son dead. He tightened his grasp as if the boy might once again be taken from him. “How in the name of…” His voice trailed off as his eyes beseeched first Camilla, then Ghelfan for an answer.
“Well, stick a pickle up my nose and call me a gnome,” Dura muttered, standing slowly. “He’s the lad’s father?”
“So it would seem,” Ghelfan said, grinning and pushing himself to his feet.
“I don’t believe it,” Camilla said, looking from one face to another around the table. She waved to one of the servers. “I need something stronger than blackbrew, please. Something a lot stronger.”
The server nodded and dashed off to the kitchen, grinning.
“How can you be here?” Norris finally managed, thrusting the tearful boy to arms length, kneeling before him to peer at his tanned face. “What happened to your mother? And your sister, Samantha! Where is she? What happened to the ship?”
“Bloodwind!” the boy blurted and his eyes widened with unbidden remembrance. “Bloodwind took the ship, and he hanged all the crew and the captain, too! A man took Mama away — just took her! Then Miss Straff left us, and we were all alone!”
“We? You and who else, Timothy?” Norris asked. “Who was with you?”
“Me and Sam!” he shrieked, tears flooding from his panicked eyes. “He made us pirates, Papa! Real pirates! Then Miss Straff tried to get away, and he told us to whip her! And we did! We whipped her! Sam and me both!”
“Pirates?” Norris looked up at Camilla, his eyes pleading for explanation. “What in the name of — ”
“Bloodwind often took children, Count Norris,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. She sniffed back tears as the server returned with a bottle of brandy and several small glasses. She took one in a trembling hand and sipped. “He would…indoctrinate them, take them in and convince them that they were pirates, that he was their only family.” She knocked back the rest of her glass and sighed. “He nearly did the same to me.”
Scimitar Sun Page 29
