The War of the Four Isles

by Andrew McGahan

  He was a former whaling captain, as were many commanders in the fleet – for the Twin Islanders, unlike Dow’s folk, had never been completely forbidden the sea when under Ship Kings dominion. They’d been allowed to keep a small whaling fleet; how else, after all, were they to gather the precious whale oil? They’d been limited to local waters, and sailed only under armed Ship Kings escort; still, it meant that the Twin Islanders had been able to preserve their seafaring skills through the years, while the New Islanders had so utterly lost theirs.

  Even so, when war loomed, the crews from the whaling fleet alone had not been numerous enough to man the vastly bigger battle fleet. As a striking example of that, on Captain Fletcher’s right hand at the table sat the Snout’s first officer, Commander Harp.

  Commander Agatha Harp.

  That women could serve on Twin Islands ships had been surprise enough for Dow, after his time with the Ship Kings; that a woman could be an officer doubly so. But in fact many ships in the Twin Isles fleet were captained by women. It was a result of simple necessity. When the Twin Islanders had begun to build their secret shipyards, they’d realised that their menfolk, especially the whalers, were too closely watched by the Ship Kings to be able to escape to Black Sands unseen. Instead, women had been drafted to first build the fleet, and then to sail it.

  Commander Harp thus was quite as skilled a mariner as the captain, and doubtless would be a captain herself in time. And yet Dow had never warmed to her. Her manner was cheerless, and her appearance matched, for she was gangling and grey-haired and bony-faced. But perhaps Dow was prejudiced, for he’d always sensed that for her part, the commander did not like him much either, or approve of his presence on board her ship.

  At Captain Fletcher’s left, however, sat an officer far friendlier to Dow. This was none other than his old shipmate Johannes Ostman; uncle to young Nicky, and erstwhile blacksmith of the Chloe.

  Indeed, Johannes was a blacksmith still, but on Twin Islands ships this was no humble position. With so much iron on board – attack boats, engines, pumps, all of which needed to be maintained at battle readiness – blacksmiths were important figures. Johannes had four apprentices working under him, and was considered an acting commander in rank, to be included in all the captain’s councils.

  Not that high office had changed him at all. Johannes wore no uniform or regalia other than his usual smith’s singlet, leaving his great tattooed arms bare as ever. And for all his new responsibilities, he hadn’t lost the irrepressible cheerfulness that had so struck Dow since their first days together.

  ‘Lieutenant Amber,’ growled the captain as Dow and Cassandra came in. ‘My apologies for rousing you, but you are popular with our enemies it seems. Take a seat; the prisoner is being brought up.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Dow, giving a nod to Johannes, who had greeted him with a wink.

  ‘I’d tell the man to go to the infernal depths if it was up to me,’ Captain Fletcher continued, ‘but he claims he has important information for our high command, and will reveal it only if Dow Amber is present. Who knows what the truth of it is, but we’ll hear him out at least.’ He gave Dow a grudging frown, which was his manner of registering approval. ‘Good job yesterday, by the way.’

  ‘It was hardly any of my doing, sir,’ said Dow, thinking of the Rope Fish.

  Fletcher nodded to concede the point, but went on. ‘For one thing, we’ve squeezed a few details out of the prisoners about these new weapons of theirs; these cursed guns that fire nets. It seems all their vessels will have them fitted by next summer, which doesn’t bode well for us.’

  ‘Do we know yet what they were doing here in the Reach?’ Dow asked, still wondering if he himself might have been the enemy’s target – especially in light of the sergeant’s demand to see him.

  ‘Ah now; we thought at first it was just another raid to probe our defences – but then why were they so eager to take you all prisoner? That was a puzzle. Turns out it’s a new ploy of theirs to pierce the Labyrinth. They’re convinced that we Reach crews must know the way to Pilot Reef, and that if a captive could guide them that far, then they could snatch a pilot to show them the rest of the way in.’

  Laughter broke out around the table. As if a pilot would ever allow himself to be taken – or even if taken, allow himself to survive!

  ‘More fools them,’ stated Agatha Harp, ‘if they think that forty years of caution can be foiled by such simple tricks. Let them waste their time. In forty years more they will never gain entry.’

  To which there were further nods of agreement. The security of the Atoll was impregnable, everyone knew that. Dow alone didn’t join in, but exactly what troubled him, he couldn’t have said – other than that he knew the Ship Kings were not fools, and were not given, since the war began, to wasting their time.

  ‘Ah,’ observed the captain, as a knock came at the door, ‘here’s Jake at last.’

  Four men now entered the Great Cabin. Two of them were guards, holding between them a third: the Ship Kings sergeant. He was barely recognisable as the man who had surrendered to Dow the previous day. His uniform coat was gone, his shirt was torn, his face was bloody and bruised, and he hung wearily between his two escorts. All a result, Dow knew, of the gentle attentions of the fourth man, who followed calmly behind the others: Jake Tooth, the Snout’s second officer and chief interrogator.

  ‘The prisoner, Captain,’ this individual announced in a mild voice, saluting with a finger touched to a dull white shard that projected from his forehead. ‘Marine Sergeant Hernando of the Gullet – or so he claims.’

  ‘Thank you, Jake,’ said the captain. ‘Put him in a chair. Securely, mind.’

  The second officer smiled. ‘Never fear, sir, we’ll bind him well.’ And with a glance to Dow he added, ‘He’s very keen to make the acquaintance of Lieutenant Amber here. Lethally keen, I’d say.’

  The prisoner’s head lifted at the mention of the name Amber, his one good eye (the other was swollen shut) fixing upon Dow unerringly. The man held the stare as the guards bound him in a chair at the end of the table, and when they were done, he spat blood from between his split lips. ‘So it was you yesterday. Dow Amber himself in the flesh, and me with a loaded musket. If only I’d known, I’d have shot you and been done with it, a thousand gold coins or not.’

  Jake Tooth cast an amused glance to the captain. ‘It seems the full price on Dow’s head is only to be paid if he’s brought in alive.’

  Fletcher frowned. ‘This lot weren’t hunting for him in particular, were they?’

  The second officer shook his head. ‘The Ship Kings know Dow is serving somewhere in these waters, but no more than that. They aren’t making any special search: few of their crews would recognise him on sight anyway. It’s his name that’s famous, not his face.’

  ‘The name of a coward,’ snarled the marine sergeant, glaring.

  Jake Tooth smiled innocently at Dow. ‘He keeps calling you that. Something to do with the fact that you haven’t been anywhere near the real fighting.’

  Dow felt his face colour. He strove to meet the second officer’s stare and to defy the glint of mockery in it – but he failed, as he usually did.

  The truth was, he was a little afraid of Jake Tooth. It was not that the second officer was particularly large or intimidating – indeed, he was actually of somewhat less than average height, and wiry rather than well muscled. But his presence was a potent one – menacing, as if something wild in him might let fly at any moment, but at the same time carefully and coolly controlled.

  In part this was the aura of his previous profession. Before the war, Jake Tooth – Tooth was a nickname, his real name was Childe, but no one ever called him that – had been a harpooner in the whaling fleet. And few mariners were so revered as those who battled the great whales, in close and to the death, with no more than an iron lance as protection.

  And yet Jake hardly fit the harpooner image, what with his slight figure and loose limbs, his almost da
ndyish clothes, and his lustrous black hair, kept boyishly long for all that he could not be any younger than forty. Only the grey stubble on his chin, and a hardness about his jaw, hinted at an inner ruthlessness.

  Those things, and one other: the fragment of bone that was lodged in his brow, just above his right eye. It was the tooth of a whale. Jake had wrestled in the creature’s very mouth, so the tale went, and somehow a tooth had been driven into his skull. It did not kill him, but nor had any doctor been able to remove it, and so it remained, an ivory nub gleaming upon his forehead.

  Dow lowered his gaze from the sight of it now, and instead met the prisoner’s glaring eye. Mustering all the indifference he could manage, he asked, ‘Well, what do you want with me?’

  The sergeant grinned, fresh gaps showing black between his bloodied teeth. ‘I want to see your face when I tell you about the whore.’

  ‘About who?’

  ‘You know who I mean. Your sweetheart scapegoat. Your traitor harlot.’

  Dow blinked at the sudden silence in the cabin. Nell, he thought, blank to all else for an instant. The sergeant was talking about Nell.

  He was aware of the others watching him – Cassandra in particular. They were waiting for him to respond. But he couldn’t find words. Nell. It was like a slap of cold water upon his cheek. When was the last time he’d even thought of her? He couldn’t remember.

  Shame drew across Dow’s heart like a blade. He couldn’t remember! When they had separated, in those last moments on the Twelfth Kingdom, it had seemed impossible to him that he would not think of her every day. It had all been so clear then; that their fates were entwined, that they were destined to be reunited . . .

  But two and a half years had slipped by since that day. Two and a half years! That was too long to hold on to a mere memory. Even the best memories faded if there was nothing to refresh them, and in all that time Dow had heard no news whatever of Nell, not a single whisper from across the divide of oceans and war that lay between them.

  Until now.

  He swallowed, but could not keep the edge out of his voice, strive though he might. ‘If it’s Ignella of the Cave you mean, what about her?’

  The marine’s teeth flashed again in bloody glee. ‘She is defeated, that’s what! Her and all those in league with her. Their coup has failed. We had news of it just before we set sail. The whore and all the rest of her Heretics are beaten at last!’

  Casually, Jake Tooth smacked the prisoner across the back of the head. ‘Keep a civil tongue,’ he warned lightly. ‘I don’t know the lady of whom you speak, but I won’t have that language used of her.’

  To which the sergeant merely coughed a laugh in reply. ‘Kill me for all I care. It won’t change anything.’ He glared defiantly at every face around the table. ‘All your hopes have failed.’

  Dow stared in confusion. What was the man talking about? And how did it involve Nell? He felt again the ignorance and dislocation of those two and a half years. Obviously she would have spent that time doing something – but a failed coup?

  Captain Fletcher broke the silence, addressing the prisoner irritably. ‘What do you mean, hopes? What hopes of ours have failed?’

  ‘Your hopes for peace! There will be none! Tell it to your War Master. There will be no negotiations, no coming to terms. Not now.’

  The captain scratched at his beard. ‘I have no earthly clue what you’re on about.’

  ‘As if you don’t know,’ the marine sneered. ‘Your War Master has been in secret communication with the traitor scapegoat and her Heretic Kings ever since this war began, plotting for dishonourable peace. But hear me now: your allies have failed. The loyalists moved first, and the Heretics have fallen. Haven Diaz has been taken, and Benito and the other kings and all their rabble are taken too.’

  ‘Plotting peace? Heretic Kings?’ Captain Fletcher squinted at Cassandra speculatively. ‘Any of this make sense to you, Laundress?’

  But Cassandra’s gaze was locked upon the prisoner, her expression – now that Dow took notice of it – unaccustomedly intense. ‘Taken?’ she demanded, quite ignoring the captain’s question. ‘What do you mean by that? Are they dead?’

  The sergeant seemed to regard her with both loathing and fascination. ‘What is my answer worth to you, Laundress? I’ve heard how you witches pry secrets from a man. So it will be you who visits me tonight instead of this torturer here?’ Again, Jake Tooth cuffed the back of his head, and again the prisoner laughed. ‘Dead? No, they’re not dead. Death is too good for them. They’re worse than dead. Your peace-monger friends have been sent to Banishment. May they rot there and hope for death. It’s no better than they deserve for their treachery.’

  ‘You consider it treachery,’ enquired Cassandra in a soft voice, ‘to seek for peace and an end to nearly three years of bloodshed?’

  ‘If it means that you rebels and murderers go unpunished, then yes, I do consider it treachery. Me, and all loyal Ship Kings.’

  Captain Fletcher had been staring back and forth between the two in bewilderment. ‘So you do know what he’s talking about, lass?’

  Cassandra appeared to come back to herself; she straightened, and gave the captain a stiff shrug. ‘I know something of it perhaps . . . but it’s not for me to discuss it in this company.’

  ‘High policy, eh?’

  Cassandra only shook her head forbiddingly; she would comment no further. To Dow, however, she looked shaken by what she’d heard.

  But now Johannes spoke up, and Dow forgot all about Cassandra. ‘Prisoner, what of the scapegoat girl? Was she also taken, as you say?’

  ‘Why?’ the sergeant queried. ‘What is the whore to you?’ He rolled a maddened eye as he studied Johannes; the huge arms, the singlet seared from the forge. ‘Ah. I know who you must be. You’re the blacksmith, the one who plotted with her and the New Islander on the Chloe. I served once under a shipmate of yours. He told me of your crimes.’ Another laugh. ‘Yes, the harlot was taken with the rest of them. And shot in the process, so it’s said. And I’m glad she was. I only wish they’d killed her.’

  ‘So why didn’t they?’ Dow demanded, driven despite his alarm (she’d been wounded!) to a cold fury, remembering how the Ship Kings inquisitors had dressed Nell up at their mock trial; they had called her a whore then, too. ‘Why didn’t they kill her, if they had the chance?’

  ‘Oh, he is offended!’ scoffed the prisoner. ‘The great coward would defend the honour of his lady. The great stabber of backs! Beware, Captain,’ he warned, looking to Fletcher, ‘this Dow Amber is none too fond of commanders who take him under their wing. Ask the late Vincente of the Shinbone.’ But as Dow only continued to stare at him silently, the sergeant shifted uneasily against his ropes. ‘I’m but a soldier – I don’t know why they let her live. Maybe they think her a better example to other traitors if she suffers on Banishment rather than being granted a quick and easy death. She is alive, that’s all I know.’

  Fletcher sat up, patience at an end. ‘My thanks for your advice, Sergeant, but I’ve heard all I need to know about the death of Captain Vincente. I fear no knife in the heart from Mr Amber here. Is that it, then? Is that all that you came here to tell us?’

  The marine nodded proudly. ‘It is – and it was worth even capture itself to see your hopes dashed. You have no allies anymore in our camp, no weakling collaborators looking to surrender. Only enemies remain. And the war will go on.’

  The captain sighed. ‘But without you, I’m afraid, Sergeant.’ He gave a nod to the harpooner. ‘Take him back down, Jake. That’s enough.’

  ‘Aye,’ agreed the second officer. ‘I’ll continue my own chat with him in private.’

  The marine only leered knowingly up at his interrogator. The two guards untied him and led him towards the door. On the threshold, however, he suddenly bucked against them. ‘Wait! I have forgotten! I have one message more – for the New Islander!’ He had turned half about to face Dow. ‘I said that once I served with a friend of th
e blacksmith there; well, it was a friend of yours too. Perhaps you remember him? Captain Diego of the Diamond.’

  Johannes answered before Dow could. ‘Captain Diego? That I can’t believe. Even you Ship Kings would not be fool enough to give him command.’

  The sergeant turned his fevered gaze to the blacksmith. ‘He commands, and he commands well. Unlike this coward Dow Amber here, Diego of the Diamond has fought in all the great battles. His ship is famed throughout the empire.’

  A terrible suspicion struck Dow. ‘And what is the name of that ship?’ he asked.

  The marine’s expression turned cunning. ‘The name that it goes by now I will not tell you, but its former name – that’s no secret. Indeed, Diego wants it known far and wide. Especially by the accursed Dow Amber. It’s the Chloe that he commands, in defiance of the traitors who despoiled it, and in honour of its dead captain, whom you so foully murdered.’

  ‘I see,’ said Dow, as if the news meant nothing to him, though he was seething inside with an ever growing indignation. First Nell – and the shame of forgetting her! – and then being called the murderer of Captain Vincente again, after so long. And now to learn that Diego was a captain, and fighting in great battles – and in the Chloe of all ships! It was beyond bearing. But he only said, ‘Thank you for the information.’ Then he nodded to the guards. ‘You can take him now.’

  The prisoner resisted for a last moment. ‘Be warned, New Islander. Captain Diego has sworn to avenge Vincente’s death, and vows that you will not survive the war alive, if he has anything to do with it. You will meet, he and you. Depend on it!’ Then he was gone, and the guards with him.

  Jake Tooth, however, remained, slamming the door behind the other three, then slouching back to the table and sinking into a chair. ‘That’s one hard character, no doubt,’ he commented, propping his lean legs on the tabletop. ‘Had to belt merry hell out of the fool just to get a conversation going. All in all, I quite like him.’ The harpooner favoured Dow with a slow grin, then looked to the captain. ‘So what now?’