On deck a shake of the head and a few blinks, snorts and shakes set me up to face the perils ahead.
The owner of the shock of hair was Brokelsh, and his nose was a mere flat sponge. He goggled at me.
Over on the other side men clustered, staring at Tuscurs Maiden, who rolled listlessly beyond. I said: “Thank you for the rope, dom. I’ll do the same for you one day,” and headed straight for the quarterdeck ladder.
The Brokelsh shouted after me: “I’ll remember that, dom. Make sure you do, too. My name is Bango Barragon, from Ovvend, so remember it when the time comes.”
I did not laugh although, by Krun, his shock of hair and his squashed nose and his manner were enough to make a fellow split his sides. I put a hand on the rail of the ladder and a boarding pike came down thwack! I jumped. I looked up and my face must have shone a very nasty glow.
“You nearly had my hand off then, dom!”
“Aye,” quoth the fellow at the head of the ladder, clad in leathers, brass-studded, and with the crimson and light-blue banded sleeves of Ovvend. “And if you try to come up here without an invite I’ll have your head off, by Vox!”
A few sailors and a couple of Pachak marines came over to stare at me, dripping water on their deck. They held weapons; they were in no wise scared of me, of course; just curious and cautious.
“Tell Captain Insur ti Fotor I wish to speak—”
“Tell the Capt’n, is it, now! A civil tongue in your head might keep that object upon your shoulders.”
A young lad with a flushed face looked over the quarterdeck rail. I did not know him. He wore a helmet of silvered iron flaunting the feathers of Ovvend. He would be a noble youngster training up in the galleons so that one day he, too, might command one of the sleek sea greyhounds. He could be a fop, a ninny, an autocrat of sadistic humor; he could be a stout-hearted lad ready to learn his trade. I stared back at him, and then yelled: “Captain Insur ti Fotor! If you value your hide, lad, jump! Fetch him!” And, then, I used the word to make ’em leap about. “Bratch!”
He flushed even further, tightened up, opened his mouth — saw my face — and bratched.
The guard at the head of the ladder tried to hit me over the head with his pike. You couldn’t blame him, really. I dodged, took the pike away, so that he fell down the ladder on his nose. A Pachak lifted his upper left arm; his comrade stuck out his lower left arm. In another moment they’d all leap on me, and I had no wish at all to fight them, all at once or one at a time.
“Insur!” I bellowed at the top of my voice.
Now Insur ti Fotor’s family name — it was Varathon — had been scarcely used by us. He’d always been known as Insur ti Fotor, for Fotor was a tidy little township of Ovvend and Insur Varathon came from one of the chief families there. So, all I could do was bellow out: “Insur!”
Give him his due. He did not hang about. His face appeared over the rail, beside and higher than that of the middy’s. He saw. At once he shouted: “Send that man up here. Handle him gently.”
The guard sat up rubbing his nose, which did not bleed much.
“Your pardon, dom,” I said. “It was your nose or my head.”
He sneezed red.
“We’ll see, dom, we’ll see.”
Up the ladder with the two Pachaks at my back I went. Insur turned away, glaring at the middy.
“Please return to your duties, Hikdar Varathon!”
“Quidang!”
The lad scuttled.
Insur simply shouldered on to his aft cabin, shouting to his first lieutenant: “Do nothing until I tell you!”
“Quidang!”
At the carved companionway entrance, Insur half-turned, still not looking at me. “You may return to your duties, Pachaks. My thanks. I will take charge of this man.”
“Quidang!”
The Pachaks trotted off and I followed Insur down into his cabin. He waited with the handle in his fist, and he slammed the door after us. Then, at once, he bowed, and said:
“Majister.”
I took his hand.
“My thanks, Insur. That was splendidly done.”
“If I say I am amazed — flabbergasted — to find you here...”
“You would match the pleasure I feel in meeting you again.”
He motioned to a chair, and so I had to sit down, otherwise he’d remain standing, half-bent, forever. “Well, Insur, tell me all about it.”
He sat down and instinctively poured parclear. The sherbet drink fizzed and sparkled in the glass. “I will tell you everything, majister. But — what? I am bereft of words.”
“First of all — you did right to keep my identity safe. Second: What is all this nonsense about taking the argenter from Tomboram a prisoner of war?”
He straightened.
“It is hardly nonsense, majister.” He wouldn’t mince words. “The Opaz-forsaken devils bear heavily upon us. We strive to thwart their designs, but—”
“Press? Designs? What are you talking about? Is not Vallia at peace with Pandahem? All the nations of Pandahem — well, perhaps with the exception of the Bloody Menahem.”
“No, majister. Not so.”
I gaped. Then I said, harshly, “Tell me.”
So he told me.
Down in the southwest of Vallia, the land I had made my home on Kregen and which empire had fetched me to be their emperor, down there in the southwest in the kovnate of Kaldi a pretty little revolution had broken out. I knew about that. My son Drak had taken his army down there to sort them out, for Kov Vodun Alloran had proclaimed himself as king. During my most recent adventurings I had been somewhat out of touch with the latest developments.
Insur said: “Alloran sought help from Pandahem. He got it. Armies were landed and Prince Drak has fought many hard battles—”
He saw my face and stopped speaking abruptly. Drak! Suppose he was killed in one of these petty little battles, for hard battles mean casualties. Insur saw at once.
“The Prince Majister is safe, and leads the army brilliantly.”
“Thank Opaz!”
“Aye.”
“And so you cruise the sea lanes to prevent the ferrying of more troops to feed this mad King Vodun Alloran?”
“Yes, majister.”
“But — Tomboram! They have been friends for many seasons. I would have thought it of Menaham—”
“They were defeated in a great battle, and Alloran desperately sought fresh allies, and found them in Tomboram.”
“Well, I suppose it all adds up,” I said in a grudging fashion. “Although it stinks worse than the Fish Souk in Helamlad where there is no ice for fifty dwaburs around.”
“Where Helamlad might be, majister, I do not know. What I would dearly like to know is where you came from — oh! Unless—”
“From Tuscurs Maiden’s ship’s company, Insur, that’s where. And she’s not of Tomboram, being of Tuscursmot in South Pandahem. We flew the colors of Bormark just because we imagined Vallia and Tomboram, Bormark, allies.”
He shook his head; but he was no man’s fool.
“Your designs are none of my business, majister. You know I will do all in my power to aid you.”
“I know, Insur, and I thank you. So that means you can’t take the argenter prisoner.”
“Quite.”
“I spotted Wersting Rogahan at the forrard varters.”
“He will know you, for sure. And Ortyg Fondal and Nath Cwophorlin have made your acquaintance in the past. Once made—”
“I know, I know,” I grumped. “They say I’ve a face like a leem at times.”
A tiny smile licked around his lips, and his face, all bronzed and sea-beaten, creaked alarmingly. He was no salt-laden old sea-dog but a fiery and consummately professional naval officer. Men had given their lives to save his. I looked hard at him. “And,” I said, “that young Hikdar Varathon...?”
“My son, majister.”
“Congratulations. He looks likely.”
“A sight too li
kely at times. But — the argenter!”
“Aye, well. I am on passage for Port Marsilus. I can tell you that I and my comrades over in Tuscurs Maiden have a mission to burn temples of an evil cult. Pray that cult never sets foot in Vallia. It has tried and we have rooted it out. This affects all the peoples of Paz.”
He spread his hands. “I and all my people here in Ovvend Opandar are at your disposal, majister.”
I nodded. “It is a temptation. You have a first-class command, and if the lads are anything like Wersting Rogahan, they are a fearsome bunch. But — I think not, Insur. Your duties lie elsewhere.”
He looked disappointed, for he, like many a man and woman of Kregen, well knew that if they followed me they’d get into scrapes and adventures enough to last two lifetimes. I managed a farcical kind of smile.
“The Shanks, Insur, the everlasting damned Shanks. There will be fighting enough and to spare when they arrive.”
His eyebrows went up.
“Oh, yes, my friend. They are on the way to invade our lands. We have some tidying up to do first before they get here.”
“Do you know where and when they expect to make landfall?”
“I wish I did. I know only that a vast fleet is on the way.”
A knock rapped discreetly on the paneled door. Insur did not look annoyed, as a lesser man might well have done.
“Yes?”
“A Khibil from the Pandahem argenter demands to see you, captain. Demands, no less.”
The voice beyond the door betrayed amusement.
I sighed.
“Time I was gone, Insur. That’ll be a vastly intemperate Khibil whose acquaintance I have the honor to claim. Perhaps if you just tell him that Vallia and Tomboram are allies, ask him to convey your respects to Kov Pando Marsilus na Bormark, and then get rid of him, the quicker we can all get on with our jobs.”
“If he’s been long in your company, majister, he is likely to demand damages, recompense, an apology.”
“I’m sure you can accommodate him.”
Insur did not smile; but his nod was of the thoughtful variety, betokening a careful estimation of what he could get away with in dealing with an intemperate Khibil who was the friend of the emperor.
Insur opened the door. There was much we had not spoken of; but Pompino had effectively put an end to deliberations. I bid Insur remberee, and slipped quickly up on deck.
The two vessels rode close, their yards almost interlocking. I cocked my head up. Like a monkey up the ratlines I went and so out along a yard and leaped for Tuscurs Maiden’s main yard and so down to her deck.
Cap’n Murkizon regarded me as one might regard a ghost.
“Jak! We thought you done for, for sure! You are not broken from the ib?”
“No, Cap’n Murkizon. I am no ghost.”
“By the hairy black warts of the Divine Lady of Belschutz! Right heartily glad to see you!” He seized my hand and pumped away as though extinguishing a conflagration. Others came up. Pompino was not among them.
Larghos the Flatch said: “We saw the finny back of a disgusting Styrorynth. Then we saw blood. And yet — you live!”
“The Vallians hauled me out.”
Captain Linson, master of Tuscurs Maiden and mindful of responsibilities, congratulated me on a miraculous escape, and then added: “Here comes Horter Pompino. He looks pleased.”
Pompino leaped onto the deck, hitching his sword out of the way. He brushed up his whiskers in a gesture that told us — or, at least me — that he was feeling very pleased with himself.
“It was all a mistake,” he said, strutting up. “The moment I spoke to their captain he understood. We are to proceed at once.”
“What, Pompino,” I could not forbear from prodding. “And did he offer an apology?”
“I did not ask for one, Jak. Besides, he had his damned varters swung in my direction. Ugly, those artillery pieces of Vallia. Damned ugly.”
I did not laugh.
Then he extended his hand, palm uppermost. A single golden coin glittered. It was a zan-talen, worth ten Vallian talen pieces.
“The captain, an unhanged rascal called Insur ti Fotor, requested me to treat the crew to a wet. Of course, he knew better than to attempt to pacify me in that way.”
“Naturally.”
Inwardly I was laughing — chuckling, really — over Insur’s audacity. The likeness on the coin was of a remarkably ugly fellow, all chin and beard and beaked nose. No one, seeing that indifferent portrait, was going to recognize its subject as me, plain Jak. This had been in my mind when old Larghos Valdwin had carved the original, and I’d told him to make me look as ferocious and unlike myself as possible. He’d made the expected sly remark on that. The other side of the coin, which I regarded as the more important, showed the glory of Delia, beautifully fashioned and, yet, again, a portrait from which it would be difficult to recognize her.
Self-advertisement for your ordinary everyday emperor and empress is no doubt a worthwhile objective. For folk like Delia and myself, adventuring off around Kregen as we did, a trifle of anonymity paid handsome dividends.
Linson gave his orders and Chandarlie the Gut, the Ship-Deldar, bellowed them into action.
Pompino sniffed.
“You were given up for lost, Jak.”
I did not reply. The breeze had backed a few more points and now we could sheet home our full spread of canvas. Tuscurs Maiden bowled along merrily. An altogether different air now pervaded the ship’s company. It was as though we had come through a dire experience far worse than that through which we had really gone. Such is human nature. Men sang about their tasks. The coast lay ahead, and Port Marsilus, and taverns and dopa dens, no doubt, and a golden zan-talen nestled securely in the Owner’s strongbox, to find its way down the thirsty throats of the crew.
“I am glad you were not chomped by that Styrorynth. Ugly customers, with jaws like the black gullet of Armipand himself, Pandrite rot him. No doubt he snapped up some other victim, for there was blood.”
“No doubt.”
“And, Jak, just think. If you’d been killed, would the Everoinye have held me accountable? The thought has often plagued me.”
At once I felt contrition.
“Look, Pompino, as I have told you, I do not think the Star Lords hold me in very high esteem. I curse at them and attempt to evade what they order when it conflicts with what I desire. But I serve them more willingly now than I once did. All the same — if you were killed, I think that perhaps they would frown most unkindly upon me.”
“Well,” he said, brisking up and giving a twirl to his moustaches. “As we are not about to allow ourselves to be sent off to the Ice Floes of Sicce, let us push these doleful thoughts aside. I’m for a wet.”
“I am with you. Port Marsilus is not far off, now. There we can start our deviltry. If the Leem Lovers were other than they are, it might be in my mind to feel sorry for them.”
“You may begin being maudlin after they are all safely howling in Cottmer’s Caverns!”
Chapter five
Aye
“Look!” said Pompino as we sailed in for Port Marsilus. He did not point as one might expect a man to point as he indicated the object of his interest. “D’you see him?”
“Aye. I see him.”
As Tuscurs Maiden ran on with the bluffly blown spume from her round bows breaking and her canvas drawing as full-bellied as a noble after a feast, and the coast of Tomboram neared with the pinnacles of Port Marsilus already in sight, I stared up.
Up there circled a giant raptor, a golden-and-scarlet-feathered bird with sharp black talons extended. He was the Gdoinye, the spy and messenger of the Star Lords.
“They keep watch upon us, Jak.” Pompino spoke in a low tone, for we leaned on the quarterdeck bulwarks and Captain Linson and his officers and men on watch stood close.
“You can see the Gdoinye, and I can see him. But, of late, I remark that no one else sees him—”
“Of cou
rse not! Why, only a kregoinye, one who has been selected by the Everoinye, can ever see—”
“Yes. But I have known a few people in the past who have seen him.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
The spoken Kregish tongue is modulated by many tonal variations, so that Pompino’s simple words, by being given different inflections, could mean that he was calling me a liar, to an amazed agreement with my statement. This latter meaning he now intended.
“True, Pompino. I believe a certain innocence of mind has an influence, for a lad I know saw the bird, and a caravan master from Xuntal, a true child of the Great Plains. Also, this Kov Pando Marsilus, when he was a youngster, saw the Gdoinye.”
“So that is behind your remark. But he is no longer a coy, young and fresh and green and innocent.”
“Ha,” I said in a kind of grunt. “If ever he was, poor lad.”
Pompino let that by.
I did not say that the lad I knew who had seen the scarlet and gold raptor was my eldest son Drak. Pompino was under the impression that I was fancy free and unencumbered by a family. Just why I’d allowed that impression to remain might seem petty and obscure; it saved a quantity of explanations.
The bird circled, a menacing silhouette as he passed beneath the Suns of Scorpio, a glittery glory as the streaming radiance touched his feathers.
“He can only report that we are on our way to carry out our duties,” said Pompino.
“Aye,” I said in an ugly voice. “And we are on our own time in this.”
“True. But I think the Everoinye are now completely involved with us, and we can—”
“We can expect no help from them!”
Pompino let his lips compress. That was true, at least for me, and despite Pompino’s attachment to the Star Lords, I suspected for him, also.
There was no sign of the white dove sent by the Savanti. Even Pompino couldn’t have seen that bird.
It occurred to me to wonder if he’d ever seen or heard of Zena Iztar, who as a superhuman woman exercised mysterious powers. She had assisted me in the past, and although I might suspect she stood over in opposition to both Star Lords and Savanti, I was not certain of that. She it was who had helped us when the Brotherhood of the Kroveres of Iztar fought their early sacrificial battles. Now the Kroveres with Seg Segutorio as their Grand Archbold were dedicated to righting wrongs, uprooting slavery and injustice, and of countering the Shanks. Naive ends for an Order, you may think — all except the last — but of such naiveté are new and fairer worlds formed.
Talons of Scorpio Page 5
