New Lands (THE CHRONICLES OF EGG)

by Geoff Rodkey

  He paused again for the translation.

  “In contrast to the bigoted rule of my predecessor, I guaranteed you no criminal—no matter the color of his skin or the size of his ears—would go unpunished. And, just as certain—no honest man, however thin of wallet or small of stature, ever need fear the hand of government in his affairs, except as a guarantor of justice and impartiality.”

  It took an unusually long time for the translator to get through that last bit. I wondered if he was as confused by it as I was.

  “When I first took office,” Pembroke went on, “certain rumors reached my ears, of the foulest and most despicable nature. It was said that lawless bands of men roamed the lands to the north, taking slaves at will from the Native population. Worse, to my ears, was the allegation that these traitors to human decency were my own countrymen—Rovians who had cast off the laws of not merely their king, but their Savior.”

  Now I understood why they’d gagged me. Underneath all the confusing words, the lie he was spinning was so massive it was almost breathtaking.

  “I undertook to lead an expedition in order to prove, once and for all, the truth or falsity of this claim. To my great horror, I discovered it to be true, and the perpetrators to be at large in the Valley of Ka. My troops engaged them—and these criminals, with but one exception, died in combat rather than face the king’s justice.”

  When he got to the “exception” part, he waved his hand at me.

  “The person before you today stands guilty of the charge of trading in human flesh. And though his tenderness of age, and the natural affection I have for him as a consequence of our common nationality, cause me more pain than I can express—”

  That was a bit much.

  “—my duty as your Governor demands that I exact from him the ultimate punishment. For the law is the law, and so help me, I am duty-bound to enforce it without prejudice or mercy—no matter the outcome, nor the price to my heaviness of heart.”

  He lowered his head, looking me straight in the eye.

  “Egbert Masterson, I hereby sentence you to death by hanging.”

  The drums started up again as one of the soldiers stepped forward to fix the noose around my neck.

  I don’t know why I wasn’t more scared. Even as they tightened the noose and I felt the scratch of the rope against my neck, I hardly felt a trace of my usual stomach-clenching fear.

  I didn’t feel much of anything. It was like the whole thing was happening to someone else, while the real me floated somewhere above it all, watching the scene like a spectator at a play.

  The rope was so tight now I could feel my pulse thump in my neck. As the soldier stepped away, I thought I heard someone yelling, trying to be heard over the pounding of the drums.

  The soldier walked over to a long lever that rose up from the platform on the far side of the stage. He put his hand on it, and some part of me registered the fact that once he pulled the lever, the bottom would fall out of the trapdoor beneath my feet, and I’d drop.

  The part of me watching from above wondered how it would feel.

  Someone was definitely yelling something—the same word, over and over. I hoped they’d have the good manners to stop when the drums did so I could die in a dignified silence.

  “GOVERNOR!”

  A man leaped onto the platform at a running jump, making the whole gallows shudder so violently it was a wonder it didn’t spring the trapdoor under my feet. He was a big fellow, with a thick head of brown curly hair, and my first thought was that he looked awfully familiar.

  “GOVERNOR!” he yelled again.

  Pembroke raised his hand. The drumming stopped.

  “Commodore Healy,” said Pembroke, not bothering to hide the surprise in his voice.

  It was Burn Healy.

  SPRUNG

  The part of me that was floating detached above the whole scene suddenly reentered my body. I think it was to get a closer look.

  What on earth is Burn Healy doing on my gallows?

  Pembroke wanted to know the same thing. “What possesses you to interrupt a vital function of government?” he asked the pirate.

  “I apologize for my impertinence,” said Healy, directing his answer to Pembroke but making sure he was loud enough for the whole crowd to hear him. “But I think you’ll agree that justice holds greater claim to our conscience than manners.”

  “Indeed, Commodore,” replied Pembroke, making me wonder why he kept calling a notorious pirate by a title I thought only applied to leaders of the Rovian Navy. “Which is why your interruption of a justly administered execution—”

  “Precisely why I’m here, Governor,” Healy interrupted. “As I’m sure you’re aware, there is a law, of long standing in the kingdom of Rovia…which clearly states that when a minor child commits a crime—no matter how vile—his punishment is to be rightly considered the province not of the state, but of his parent or guardian.”

  Healy cast his eyes to the top of the palace steps, where Pembroke’s minions stood in a line. “Isn’t that so, barrister?” he called out.

  The other minions turned to stare at a tiny, nervous-looking man with big spectacles, wearing a blue military uniform that was much too big for him.

  It was Archibald, the lawyer from Sunrise Island. I was surprised I hadn’t noticed him there before. Then again, up until that point my attention had been pretty well hogged by my looming execution.

  “I said, isn’t that so, barrister?” Healy repeated in that bone-chilling voice of his—the one that said your life would be over in a heartbeat if you didn’t give him the answer he was looking for.

  Archibald had been watching Pembroke, looking for a cue—but at the sound of Healy’s voice, his head snapped back to Healy, and he nodded so hard it must have hurt his neck.

  Pembroke’s eyes narrowed as he stared over his shoulder at his attorney. But he managed to get his scowl under control before he turned back to Healy.

  “Be that as it may…,” Pembroke replied. “This boy’s father, himself a slaver, died in the Valley of Ka while resisting the crown’s troops. Making the boy a ward of the state.”

  “Not so, I’m afraid,” Healy replied. “If Hoke Masterson is dead…I am this boy’s guardian.”

  “By what right?” Pembroke didn’t even bother trying to hide the anger in his voice.

  “By blood,” said Healy. “Egbert Masterson is the youngest child of my late sister, Jennifer Healy.”

  I was so stunned to hear someone speak my mother’s name that I missed the next thing Healy said, even though I was staring right at him.

  Then I looked at Pembroke—and when I did, he was staring down at me with a look that was so bewildered it almost seemed tender.

  Healy was still talking.

  “…to release him to me—just as I thank the brave soldiers of His Majesty”—Healy made a sweeping motion with his arm, taking in every Rovian soldier in the courtyard, from the ones who’d marched me in to the watchmen along the distant city wall—“who were gracious enough to allow me the honor of fighting alongside them in the liberation of New Rovia, perceiving that while I do not wear the colors of our king, I am no less a patriot for that. Thank you again, my brothers!”

  The soldiers roared back with enthusiasm. Whatever fighting Healy had done during the invasion of Pella Nonna, it had obviously won him some big fans in the Rovian Army.

  Healy turned his smile from the troops back to Pembroke—who to my surprise was actually smiling himself.

  Then I realized it was a fake smile, plastered on his mouth to hide the rage that burned in his eyes. The tenderness was long gone, if it had even existed in the first place.

  “So it seems, Governor,” said Healy in a very pleasant voice, “that the only proper course of action is for you to release my nephew to my custody. I can assure you, the men of my ship are heavily armed…”

  He motioned to the space below and behind him, and for the first time, I noticed he hadn’t come alone. A dozen
or more pirates stood by the gallows stairs, all of them holding pistols. If the pistols were pointing anywhere, it was at Pembroke.

  “…and they will not fail to ensure that the boy departs Pella Nonna within the hour, with no further disruption to the perfect system of justice you’ve established in New Rovia.”

  Pembroke’s chest rose as he took a deep, slow breath. When he spoke, his voice was tight and measured.

  “Thank you, Commodore. I see that the faith I placed in you militarily has been rewarded beyond my imagining. Take this nephew of yours, and may your punishment of him be swift and just.”

  Then Pembroke turned his back and walked up the steps toward his aides. I don’t think he had much appetite for watching his own soldiers help me slip the noose.

  AWAY

  Thank you” were the first words out of my mouth after Healy cut my gag with his knife.

  “Don’t thank me,” he said. “Thank your friends.”

  He headed for the gallows steps. I followed him. “Which ones?”

  “The twitchy one, the Native girl, and your brother. If they hadn’t found me when they did, you’d be swinging right now.”

  As I started down the steps, I heard a voice call my name. I looked out over the sea of people and saw Salo from the band about fifty feet back, waving to me as he tried to squeeze through the crowd.

  Healy was moving at a fast clip in the opposite direction, toward the port.

  “Can I just—?”

  “Don’t push your luck. We’re leaving.”

  I would’ve liked to talk to Salo. But it seemed best not to argue with the man who’d just saved my life.

  The crowd parted in a hurry for the pirates. Once we reached the avenue, Healy and his men moved so fast I had to trot to keep up.

  We were almost to the boardwalk when a voice rang out behind us.

  “Commodore!”

  It was Pembroke, flanked by a handful of his minions and trying to maintain a dignified air even as he practically ran to catch us. Birch was with them, the only one not in a Rovian military uniform. His good eye stared me cold, and I felt my forehead go clammy.

  I prayed Healy wouldn’t stop to wait. But he did.

  “The man with the bashed-in face wants to kill me,” I told him.

  Healy shrugged. “Don’t they all?”

  That didn’t exactly put my mind at ease, so I made sure I stayed close by Healy’s side—and when Pembroke reached us and began speaking to the pirate in a low, steely voice, I was able to hear everything.

  “Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

  “Only just found out, old boy. Three little birds flew down from the north and took roost on my ship. Funny—their story’s quite different from yours.”

  Healy started toward the port again. Pembroke walked alongside, at Healy’s right elbow. I stayed glued to the left one. I could practically feel Birch’s eye drilling into the back of my skull, but I didn’t have the courage to look back.

  “I’m sure you realize this changes your status all down the line,” Pembroke informed Healy.

  “I’d expect no less. But I wouldn’t advise you to push too hard. I’ve got friends in Edgartown, too, Reg. And you might be sleeping in that palace tonight—but until you’ve got Li Homaya’s head on a stick…and anyone else the Short-Ears send to avenge him…you need me more than I need you.”

  Healy stopped at the foot of a pier, turning to stand across it in a way that said it was a bad idea for Pembroke to try to follow him any farther. As the two men stared at each other, most of Healy’s crew continued up the pier without him. I could see the Grift moored up ahead, and for a moment I considered going with them. But even though it meant more time in the company of Roger Pembroke, with Birch glaring daggers at me, I couldn’t bring myself to leave Healy’s side.

  “Don’t be too sure of that,” Pembroke warned Healy. “I’m quite certain New Rovia will prosper with or without you.”

  “We’ll see. Best of luck to you, Reggie.”

  Pembroke’s voice turned quieter—and, if possible, even colder. “Don’t believe I know anyone by that name.”

  Healy cracked a smile as he glanced past Pembroke at the aides in their crisp, new-looking Rovian uniforms.

  “I do. But don’t fret, Reg. Just put another mask on. Soon enough, everyone who knows the truth about you will be dead.”

  “You’re getting pretty close to it yourself.”

  “We shall see. Life is long—until it isn’t.”

  With that, Healy turned and strode up the deck toward his ship. I hustled after him, a little anxious about the wisdom of turning our backs on Roger Pembroke. But the last pair of Healy’s men stayed between him and us, covering our exit.

  Halfway down the pier, Healy slowed his pace and turned to look at me.

  “You don’t look so bad, all things considered. You’re a sight cleaner than your friends, anyway. They’ll be awfully glad to see you. Except possibly your brother. He’s a bit of a meathead, isn’t he?”

  I nodded.

  “More his father’s child than his mother’s. Still, even Hoke had a certain rough charm…I’m sorry, by the way.” He put a gentle hand on my back. “There’s not many a boy has to lose the same parent twice.”

  “Are you really my mother’s brother?” I asked.

  Healy stopped at the foot of the gangway. For a moment, he stared down at the weathered planks of the pier. Then he looked into my eyes.

  “I believe the word is uncle. Yes. Sorry that had to come as a surprise. Your mother had some bad experience with pirates. One in particular.”

  He paused to glance back in the direction we’d come.

  “She got it in her head that if I ever came round, I’d be a bad influence on the moral life of her children. Not to mention their future careers. Your dad felt the same. Didn’t want anything to distract you from the critical business of selling ugly fruit at just above cost…”

  He gave a dry little laugh, with as much sorrow in it as amusement. Then he frowned. “Sorry. Don’t mean to speak ill of the departed. He did his best with what he had, your dad did. And he loved your mother like nothing else in the world.”

  There was a lump growing in my throat. I think Healy must have sensed it, because he quickly gave me a clap on the arm and nodded toward the gangway.

  “Come. Let’s go see your friends.”

  KIRA HUGGED ME so hard it hurt. So did Guts, which was awkward for him, because he wasn’t the hugging type. Adonis sort of grunted and nodded his head at me, which was about the kindest gesture I’d ever gotten from him.

  Healy hadn’t been wrong about them. They looked awful—dirty, bedraggled, with fat gray circles sagging under their eyes. And they smelled even worse.

  “How’d you get here?” I asked.

  “We followed the horses,” said Kira.

  “What happened to Millicent?”

  She shook her head. “They took her east, toward the coast. Probably Turtle Bay, where the slave ships anchor. From there, it’s only two days’ sail to Sunrise.”

  “Mind yer heads!”

  We all had to duck fast to avoid getting knocked off our feet by a bundled sail that two pirates swung over our heads as they sped by.

  The entire crew was in constant motion, rushing with their usual deadly seriousness to prepare the ship for sailing. I felt a pang of guilt when I realized I was the reason for the unplanned departure.

  Healy was by the wheel, talking with Spiggs, his first mate. He must have seen us nearly get our heads taken off, because he called out in a sharp voice, “Get below! String some hammocks in a corner of the gun deck and stay in them.”

  We went below, dodging crew members as we went. The gun deck was as buzzing with controlled chaos as the main, but we found a stash of hammocks in some netting to the aft and managed to string three of them in a corner.

  We couldn’t put up a fourth without getting in the way of the crew, and at first I thought that would be a problem
. But Guts and Kira scrambled into one without a word of complaint, and as I watched them curl up together, it occurred to me that in the time we’d been separated, something had changed in their relationship.

  I was glad for them—but it made me sad, too, because it got me thinking about Millicent. I started to wonder where she might be—back on Sunrise, probably—and the name Cyril popped into my head, and I had to make conversation quick so I wouldn’t start to brood.

  “How’d you know to look for Healy?” I asked Guts.

  “Didn’t,” he said. “Just luck. First we heard when we snuck into town last night was they’d be hangin’ a boy for slavery in the mornin’. We was down at the port lookin’ fer a merchantman Kira knew when I saw the Grift. Figgered Healy helped us once, maybe he’d do it again. Didn’t know he was yer blood kin.”

  “What happened? How did the Rovians capture Pella? How did Pembroke get to be governor? And why did Healy help him?” There was so much about the situation I didn’t understand that once I started asking questions, it was hard to know where to stop.

  “Dunno. Nobody’s told us nothin’.”

  “What did they do to you?” Kira asked.

  “Not too much, other than trying to hang me,” I said.

  “You didn’t give him the map?”

  “No…I did.”

  The look in her eyes when I said it made me feel ashamed. “It’s okay, though,” I said quickly. “It turns out it’s worthless.”

  “It doesn’t lead to the Fist?”

  “No—it’s the Fist that’s worthless. It’s got no power after all.”

  Kira’s look hardened. “That’s not true.”

  “It is. Pembroke said as much.”

  “He was lying!”

  She said it with such force that I knew there was no point in arguing with her. And I guess her reaction made sense. If the Fist didn’t have any power, it meant there wasn’t much hope for her tribe.