“Your Grace…” Silas acknowledged finally, mostly hiding his excitement as he bowed in farewell. He moved to depart, paused for a moment as if distracted by something, then cast his pale gaze directly up into the darkness of the nearby stairwell, trying to decide whether he’d actually heard something or not.
“All’s well, Brother Silas…?” De Lisle inquired softly, noting the man’s momentary hesitation and recognising it as being out of character.
“Nothing… nothing, Your Grace…” Silas replied instantly, shaking his head as he turned to stare at his superior once more. “Probably just rats… by your leave…” This time be departed without hesitation, disappearing down the hallway almost as quickly as he’d originally appeared.
“You’d all do well to learn from that one…” De Lisle observed with a wry smile, enjoying the fact that each one of his gathered lackeys flinched noticeably as his gaze fell upon each of them in turn.
“Cardinal…!”
His name had been called from the far end of the hall, cutting off anything else he might’ve said, and he forced a smile onto his face as he turned to face the newcomer, insincerity oozing from every pore.
“Deputy-Viceroy Garrick, a pleasure as always…” he declared loudly, extending his right hand in greeting as Edward Garrick accepted it with equal formality and made a show of kissing the man’s ceremonial ring.
“You honour us with your presence as always, Your Grace…” Garrick conceded with a tilt of his head, before extending an arm down the hallway in the direction he’d come. “I trust your audience with the king went well?”
“As well as was expected…” De Lisle answered coldly, seeing no need to elaborate as he had just moments before.
“A shame that no accord could be reached,” Garrick offered with a shrug, already aware of what had transpired. “Huon has always been a tireless supporter of The Brotherhood’s fight against evil and their selfless provision of counsel and redemption for all.”
“Mmmh,” the cardinal mused dubiously, not buying any of it for a moment. “Can I be of assistance in any way, viceroy?” He asked finally, deciding there was no reason not to be blunt and get straight to the point.
“I come as the proxy of His Excellency, Prince Baal, and request a private audience.” Carrick answered immediately. “The prince is at sea aboard Rapier and will not likely return before Endweek, however he’s tasked me to speak on his behalf regarding a favour… one believer to another…”
“And this is something that cannot wait until his return…?” De Lisle asked tiredly, not at all impressed by a summons from someone as lowly as a mere prince. “You’re aware, of course, that there’s still much preparation to be done in the lead up to the signing of this most important treaty? As you can imagine, there’s also much for a cardinal to do at such a time…”
“I understand completely, Your Grace,” Garrick placated profusely, showing nothing of the offence he’d taken at the obvious slight, but deciding to make a point of his own. “I assure you I shall need no more than a handful of your time: the prince bade me promise to speak to you this night…” he paused for effect “…he is, after all, on business that benefits both our houses…”
The implication was right there for all to hear and several of the cardinal’s followers stifled gasps over the impudence of the man to have so issued so blatant a threat. De Lisle glared at Carrick for a long time, trying to deciding whether there could be anything worthwhile that Baal, a pathetic effort of a king’s cousin at best, might possibly have to offer. The decision was made for him in the end however: after several seconds of awkward silence, there was a single, faint flash from the stone set into the cardinal’s pendant and a single word boomed loudly within his mind, crisp and clear as winter sunlight on a cloudless morning.
Accept…!
Accustomed as he was to such random events, De Lisle managed to show nothing of the disorientation that always accompanied so powerful a message, and it seemed completely natural as he reached out one arm and rested casually against the wood panelling of the corridor wall, a long sigh of resignation escaping his lips.
“Very well, Carrick…” he acceded eventually, dragging the whole thing out long enough to make it seem as if it had been his own idea all along. “I shall be along presently…”
“Your Grace…” Carrick acknowledged, bowing deeply and then striding off down the hallway the way he’d come.
“To the temple,” De Lisle groaned weakly, sagging visibly against the wall now that they were alone and there was no longer any need for pretence. “I need to commune! Help me!” With a follower each taking one of his arms across their shoulders, the entourage carefully turned their leader around on the spot and carefully led him away in the direction of the Longhouse’s small but ornate Shard Temple.
Backed up against a wall at the very top of the third floor stairwell, Princess Charleroi jammed a fist against her mouth and struggled to stifle a terrified gasp of her own. He’d seen her! Somehow, he’d known she was there, eavesdropping. That evil creature, Silas had somehow sensed her presence and had stared up at her through the darkness, his eyes boring into her soul. How she’d managed not to scream in fright right there and then was a miracle in itself, Thank the Crystal. As she thought back over the strangeness of what she’d just overheard, it never once occurred to her that as princess and daughter of the king, she had every right to be walking those halls regardless of the time of day.
What were they talking about? She mused silently, giving herself time to calm down as her chest rose and fell with her laboured breathing. Who’s this ‘witch’ Cardinal De Lisle was talking about? Why was finding a witch loose in the Blacklands so important to the man in charge of the whole Brotherhood? And what does that have to do with his meeting with Father…? The rest of what De Lisle and Silas had discussed had slipped completely past without consideration, and wouldn’t come back to her until much later.
She jumped in fright, crying out sharply as a door right next to her was suddenly thrown back, only to reveal the concerned and questioning face of Matron Griselda.
“What are you doing out here in the corridor alone, Your Highness?” She asked with a frown, hands on hips as she stepped out through the entrance to Charleroi’s chambers and stood in the hallway with hands firmly on hips. “I told Master Randwick that you were to be in bed no later than nine!”
“He – he was detained by the king, Matron…” She stammered, adrenalin causing her body to shake faintly now as her mind attempted to simultaneously process sensations of sudden shock and immediate relief. “It’s not his fault: I got lost on my way back. He wanted to get a courtier to escort me, but I said I could find my own way…” Griselda was the one person she could trust with such information, for there was no way she would ever tell Randwick.
“Well, that’s as may be…” the old woman conceded grudgingly, “but it’s still well past your bed time! In with you now and get changed! There’s a long day ahead tomorrow for all of us and you’re going to need a good night’s sleep.
As she lay in her huge feather bed some time later, Charleroi stared up at the dark ceiling and let her thoughts run wild, playing the scene over and over in her mind as she recalled the conversation between Silas and the cardinal. Nothing made sense.
Could there truly be a witch on the loose in the Blacklands? She wondered to herself. Does anyone really believe in witches anymore…?
Nobles and peasants alike were always scaremongering and spreading rumours about demons and witches and other disciples of Nethug – particularly whenever something bad happened that they either couldn’t explain or didn’t want to accept responsibility for – but she couldn’t even recall the last time there’d actually been an inquisition. Certainly not in Huon in the last ten years or more that she could remember, although it allegedly still happened in the Blacklands every second week.
I should ask Randwick about it… she decided, eyes drooping as exhaustion fought to over
come her senses. So much to do tomorrow… ask Randwick…
The oblivion of a deep sleep took her seconds later.
IX
Long Hop
An officer and nine troopers boarded the ship in those cold hours before dawn, officially commandeering Sea Skimmer in the name of Harald the Black, ruler of all the Blacklands and its territories. The official reason given was the great need of shipping in support of the upcoming treaty celebrations, and the ship was therefore now temporarily part of a conscript merchant navy and would sail for Huon as soon as sufficient cargo had been loaded. Garbutt had protested, raged and pleaded in turn to be exempted from service – that he would lose precious contracts in Swales if he were not there in three days’ time to load up – but it was all to no avail: the troop commander remained completely unmoved by threat and cajolery alike.
Nor were any crew permitted to leave the vessel once the Blackwatch had come aboard. The troopers cared little for whatever items of cargo the ship was already carrying nor did they seem particularly interested in the crew itself – neither matter was part of their standing orders – however they did ensure that anyone already present aboard Sea Skimmer remained there. Although they seemed happy to leave Nev, Godfrey and Lester to their own devices, still seated quietly as they were beneath that rear bridge deck, there was no way the trio would be able to get off the ship without raising far too many awkward questions.
And there they’d been forced to remain, tense and terrified of discovery at any moment as a steady stream of huge wooden crates arrived by horse-drawn cart over the next four hours, each loaded in turn onto Sea Skimmer’s open cargo deck and carefully tied down. A hundred and fifty large boxes, each around two-metres long (Nev actually counted them, as there was literally nothing else to do) along with thirty more crates that were more square in shape – perhaps 150cm along each side – and appeared to be far lighter judging by the way dock workers were able to manhandle them far more easily into place. She videoed a few moments of footage on her phone but quickly hid it away again, too scared to continue for fear of being discovered with some ‘magical’ device that might warrant another accusation of witchcraft.
Godfrey had hoped they might perhaps make good their withdrawal once the loading had been completed, but the opportunity never presented itself. Rather than leave after the last crate was secured to the deck, the Blackwatch troopers and their commander had settled themselves in forward in preparation for the voyage. Armed with crossbows and the same short swords Nev had encountered the day before, nine huge and rather serious-looking armed men were more than enough of a potential threat to keep the ship’s fifty-man crew on best behaviour. It was clear the Blackwatch officer intended to escort his important cargo all the way to its destination without ever allowing it out of his sight.
Although it was well into the morning by the time Sea Skimmer was finally able to weigh anchor, the voyage itself proved relatively uneventful. An hour or so to clear the eastern channel around ‘The Snake’ – the large island that formed a natural shelter against the elements to the south of Welshport – and then south into the open reaches of Deepwater Strait with the good fortune of a strong wind at their backs. They made excellent time, passing west of their first navigational waypoint, the small and unremarkable Hog Island, after four hours’ sailing. It was then just two more to reach The Deals, a larger cluster of islands that stood two thirds of the way to Long Hop, an island port that Garbutt had been informed was their final destination for the time being – something he’d only been told after they’d put to sea.
The morning was bland and overcast, with a cool, gusting wind coming out of the north and seabirds shadowing the ship for most of her journey. Peering out over the side at the passing waves, Nev had even seen dolphins escorting them for an hour or two, the happy creatures leaping in and out of the water with not a care in the world for the trials or misfortunes any human might be experiencing. She’d only ever seen dolphins once before during a family trip to Sea World when she was eight, and the joyful surprise of the encounter had been great enough to momentarily distract Nev from her nervous tension. Had it not been for the oppressive presence of those black-clad soldiers, the entire voyage might otherwise have been reasonably pleasant.
It was evening as they’d arrived at Long Hop, only to be held out to sea for many more hours as several ships ahead of theirs in the queue took their turn at being unloaded at the docks. Little sleep was had by any that night and the sun was once more rising over the eastern horizon as Sea Skimmer had finally pulled into the pier, the approach made without sails as the crew deployed long oars on either side of the ship and rowed her in across that last few hundred metres. The town – if it even deserved to be called such in Nev’s opinion – was little more than the port itself collected with a few dozen buildings of solid construction, all of that surrounded by what appeared to be hundreds of large, military-style tents with their own campfires and groups of off-duty soldiers standing about.
The piers were filled with shipping in various states of loading and unloading, while dozens more vessels, large and small, lay at anchor in the wide, shallow bay that swept around to the south-east from the port. Long Hop lay on the northern coast of Finder’s Island, the largest of a cluster off the north-western coast of Taas, the vassal kingdom that lay along Huon’s land-bound eastern border. The last time Godfrey had visited it’d been little more than a supply station used as a rest point for galleys whose oarsmen were exhausted from the ‘long hop’ across the Deepwater from Welshport. He’d never seen the place as active or filled with such a heavy military presence. Neither had Garbutt, it seemed.
“This isn’t good at all, Westacre…” he’d observed darkly as they’d stood together at the railing, watching the dockworkers tie the ship up at the pier. “All those warships out in the bay… all these soldiers, and all of them Blackwatch: this is no celebration they’re planning here…”
“Sure don’t look like it,” Godfrey had agreed with similar misgivings. “This place is run out of Taas, though: surely this couldn’t all be happening without Baal knowing about it?”
“It’s no pretty sight for Huon, that’s for sure,” the captain had conceded, concerned but not overly so considering the situation hardly affected him personally.
It quickly became apparent however that their plans had also been thrown completely awry by whatever was going on. Their cargo was unloaded within a few hours of arrival but the troopers who’d come with it remained much to everyone’s dismay, and it was only then the commanding officer, a weasel-like creature going by the name of Hanssen, had advised that Sea Skimmer was to be held in reserve, waiting at Long Hop to support operations over the next few days.
The ship would be anchored offshore for the time being and the crew was given the choice to either come ashore now or remain on board. Either way, the vessel wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. A pair of war galleys remained on constant patrol, cruising back and forth across the upper reaches of the bay, and it was made very clear to Garbutt and the rest of them that any attempt to put to sea would be met with the sternest measures. Hanssen had also taken great delight in recounting tales of two vessels they’d already been forced to ram and sink over the last few days as their captains had tried to sneak away during the night.
Some of the crew chose to go ashore and anyone doing so was issued with a stamped piece of paper that listed them as sailors and gave authorisation for them to be out and about, allowing them free rein within the town itself within reason, although it was made very clear they should stay away from both the port and the military marshalling areas further inland if they knew what was good for them. The trio went with them, holding to some vain hope that other transport might be found or chartered that could take them somewhere else… anywhere else. It was all to no avail however; the tiny layover port for tired oarsmen had been transformed into a huge military staging base and as Garbutt had pointed out on arrival, it was clear that there was
more going on here than any peaceful celebration.
The permanent structures built near the port were mostly single-story, with the largest being an administration building and a rather bawdy tavern, both of which they avoided completely as they were naturally filled with Blackwatch soldiers. The streets themselves were filled with workers and other non-military personnel, most either milling about or moving this way and that as they went about their business. No one paid them any mind in any case and Nev generally managed to pass unnoticed by keeping her hood over her hair and eyes, and drawing her cloak about her body to hide her figure, looking for all the world like any other boy seeking work in the service of Harald and the Blackwatch.
Rather than risk any larger establishments, Godfrey instead sniffed out a small food stall that was little more than a shop-front attached to the side of someone’s house (meaning it likely belonged to one of the original residents), and stumped up enough silver to secure a triplet of home-made bread rolls stuffed with braised lamb and thick, salty gravy. It was heavier food than Nev would’ve eaten back home but she’d never gone so long without a proper meal back home either, and she couldn’t imagine anything tasting better as she wolfed it down in just a few huge bites.
The stall stood back from the street in a narrow alley that lay a good few hundred metres from any main thoroughfare and it was relatively private as a result, with just a few tables and chairs set about a small, walled courtyard for the few customers that occasioned to wander past either by accident or design. It gave them the chance to sit back for a few hours in relative safety and consider their extremely limited options, the provision of a single gold coin buying them another round of lamb rolls (two for Nev, at her request) with plenty of profit left for the cook.
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