by Tim Stretton
“What happened? I can see your pride in it, even now.”
“I was commanding a scout galley off Lynnoc, a little craft, smaller even than a Paladrian racing galley. Garganet wasn’t at war with Duke Falto, although there’s always tension, and there are often skirmishes. We ran upon three fighting-galleys, each three times our size. They sounded the Attack Horn and tried to encircle us. The Code is absolute — we had to fight to the death or capture.”
“And?”
“And I couldn’t do it. I had reached my rank through initiative and independence of thought; I couldn’t see the merit in sacrificing my life and my crew’s for nothing. I ordered the helmsman to hug the coast where the heavier galleys couldn’t follow us in. We lost them in the fog which always settles in the evening in those parts. I brought Dittrusig home safely and with useful information from my scouting foray. And of course, I was court-martialled, stripped of my rank, discharged and exiled.”
“Mirko! That’s so harsh!”
“I could hardly complain. The Code is explicit; and to have shown any leniency would have set a poor example. Although the sentence could have been much harsher.”
“How could it possibly …?”
“The Adjudicants could have determined I had broken off an engagement — because the Attack Horn had been sounded — rather than evaded one. That would have been death. Since I was of no important family, I imagined they might have done so. But one of the Adjudicants was a brave man, with real moral courage — the only important sort. He pleaded my case with the other Adjudicants when I was too proud to. So I got off lightly …”
“Mirko — I never realised this at all. And my uncle was so disparaging about how you’d come here — how could you let him?”
“It hardly mattered, Larien. The disgrace of my exile, the loss of the profession I loved — nothing else could rival that humiliation. But since I’ve been here, on the sea again, working with the galleys and the seamen — it’s given me energy and enthusiasm again.”
Larien leaned across the table and kissed Mirko full on the lips. “You asked me if you’d lived up to what I hoped you were. Yes, Mirko, you have. You are an honourable and decent man.”
Larien sighed. “Oh, Mirko — why are things always so difficult? If I were some tavern wench, I could do as I chose, consort with whoever I liked.”
“In other words, be seen with me without embarrassment.”
“We – and you in particular – must be careful. Whatever happens between us, things can never develop beyond a certain point. If you forget that, you could be another Minalgas Inisse: don’t think Bartazan wouldn’t imprison or kill you if you got in his way.”
“I’m not interested in Minalgas Inisse, other than to prevent him killing me.”
“Mirko, you don’t understand Paladria or the Paladrians.”
“I’ve been abducted and imprisoned twice; I’m learning.”
“That wasn’t what I meant. You still think the Margariad is about you and Drallenkoop; you can’t see that people will die if Bartazan wins.”
“Bartazan won’t win,” said Mirko with unintended heat. “He’ll be on the dockside.”
“More fool you, Mirko. You may be decent, honourable, all the noble things I said about you; but you’re also pig-headed, ignorant and plain stupid. Make what you will of that.”
Mirko swung her to face him. “The way you present it, the qualities would seem to go together. I may show intelligence and political acumen if I ensure Serendipity performs badly; but there’s no honour in it. Are you still asking me to throw the race?”
Larien coloured. “Why do we always end up here? Yes, if you think you can win either The Sorcerers or the Margariad, then make sure you don’t. If you win, the best that Koopendrall, Drallenkoop and any number of their allies can hope for is exile. Bartazan has waited a long time, he knows how to bear a grudge, and he is not a temperate man.”
“Larien —”
“In addition, he will feel able and obliged to marry me off to one of his odious cronies, Norvydas or that unspeakable Romualdas. And you’d let all that happen to win a boat race!”
“Larien! Don’t —”
“Mirko — that’s enough. If the thought of me in Romualdas’ bed isn’t enough to stay your hand, well, go ahead, race as hard as you like! Do what you want — but do it without me!”
“I hardly had a great choice as far as —”
“Just leave me alone! I’ll get a rattlejack home. You just go back to your rooms and work out exactly how much value you put on your conscience. I only hope you can live with yourself.”
Mirko was left staring at the waves lapping at the dockside. After a few minutes he turned and went back to his lodgings.
Nursing a mug of Widdershins, he took stock of his achievements to date since arriving in Paladria. Whatever Larien had said about his honour, he felt soiled and compromised. Every relationship he had in the city was based on some kind of duplicity or abuse. He was in the employ of a clearly evil man, and the contention that his opponents were probably no better was hardly sufficient justification. And he was not even serving Bartazan wholeheartedly as long as he took Catzendralle’s money.
Catzendralle … she was the root of his problems, even if not deliberately. It had been from some absurd quixotic notion of impressing her, of convincing her that he was not solely motivated by money, that he had arranged Inisse’s rescue: an act that had led to the death of Padizan, the implacable enmity of the Animaxianites and danger for his whole crew. He still failed to understand her character. She was a curious mixture of hard-headed competence and flashes of unexpected emotion.
And then there was Larien, infuriating, subtle, inconsistent. He was sure her attraction to him was genuine, but it was hopeless to pursue a relationship with her. Not only was she ever-conscious of the difference in their social class, but he felt that he would never understand her enough to be close to her. Some men preferred women to be mysterious and unfathomable, an attitude he could not understand. For him, such distance was a barrier to intimacy. But it was her he’d told about the court-martial. He shook his head; he could know her for years and still not understand her any better.
With an inner shrug, he drained his beer and made for his bed. The one thing he done openly and honestly since he’d been in the city was his training of Serendipity — and a hard session would be necessary tomorrow.
CHAPTER 19
I
t was the morning of The Sorcerers, the second greatest of the Paladrian races. Mirko was awake with the dawn, and took an early breakfast of hot fresh manchet bread and light beer. He felt an unaccountable optimism which was not borne out by logic. Serendipity had done nothing to suggest she could beat Dragonchaser in a long technical race; Larien had not been in contact since they’d argued on the waterfront; Catzendralle had neither communicated nor provided funds since his incarceration; and the Animaxianites were still eager to sacrifice him for profaning their temple. All taken with all, his circumstances lacked promise. But his optimism would not be denied, and he left his rooms with a light step.
As soon as he started to walk along the main street towards the Jurbarkas Dock, he was accosted by a figure in white robes, trimmed with a blue-green — seemingly a Animaxianite.
“Captain Ascalon — a moment if you please.”
Mirko paused politely, if warily. The Animaxianite did not appear to be a young man, or unduly vigorous, but it was as well to be careful. The stout leather undershirt he wore provided only a certain amount of comfort.
“At your disposal, sir, but please be brief. I have a regatta to attend.”
The Animaxianite bowed. “I am the Hierophant Zigmantas,” he said. “I am the chief interlocutor with Animaxian Himself.”
Mirko found this an unimpressive distinction but concealed his thoughts. “I am at a loss as to your business with me.”
Zigmantas smiled. “You will be aware that certain devotees had vowed to kill you, in re
compense for your sacrilege.”
“ ‘Sacrilege’! It was self-defence. What was I —”
Spreading his arms, Zigmantas interrupted. “That is past. I am here to tell you that you no longer need fear retribution from the Brothers of Animaxian.”
Mirko frowned. “Why should I believe that?”
“Equilibrium has been restored. Animaxian is again content.”
“How so?”
“Your profanation of the temple defiled our sacred space and displeased our god. However, a reparation has been made, and there is no further debt.”
Mirko still felt some way short of understanding the situation. “What form did this reparation take?”
“A payment was made which allowed a proper and proportionate sacrifice to be undertaken. The temple is cleansed and you walk again as a man free of taint.”
“And Inisse?”
Zigmantas placed his head on one side. “Inisse naturally feels a degree of resentment against the House of Bartazan. His personal goals remain his own, but they are no longer Animaxian’s.”
“In other words, Inisse will still kill me if he can?”
Zigmantas shrugged. “Who can see into a man’s soul? If I were you, I would be inclined to give him a wide berth.”
Mirko nodded his thanks to the Hierophant — who appeared to be expecting a more quantifiable gratuity — and went his way. Soon he was in the heart of the docks, with crowds thronging the approach. Mirko was quickly recognised.
“Make way for Captain Mirko!”, “Forward Serendipity!”, “Honour to Bartazan!”
The approach to the jetties was policed by Peremptor’s Constables who stood aside at Mirko’s arrival. The crowd was in high spirits, the mood jovial and unthreatening. All of the galleys seemed well-supported although, as ever, Dragonchaser commanded the loudest congregation.
Walking along the jetty Mirko noted the draw; this time Serendipity had only a middling position, next to Dragonchaser, but behind Morvellos Devil and especially Excelsior, which had the best draw of all. Given a good start, she would prove difficult to catch. Drallenkoop, giving some last instructions to his overseer Mindaugas, seemed as unworried as ever. Mirko saluted him before leaping aboard Serendipity.
Liudas was already at the helm, looking less nervous than for the Hanspar. The drills Serendipity had conducted over the previous month had not served to make him a good helm, but the most flagrant errors had been eradicated from his performance. Mirko hoped for at least a solid competence.
Jenx was at his drums, chewing on falcx; his eyes indicated that he had already given it ample time to take effect. After a quick word, Mirko stepped into the rowing area to speak briefly with each man. The Quartermen, he noted, all seemed at the right pitch of tension, with even Florian having set aside surliness and cynicism. The galley was as ready as he had ever seen it.
Mirko gave the signal to Jenx and the crew rowed slowly out to the start line at Four rhythm. The Sorcerers was unique in the Paladrian calendar in that the race was over two laps of the same course. The galleys rowed out into the bay with the Hanspar Rock to port, for the most part with a strong cross-current, before reaching the open sea and bearing to port towards The Sorcerers. At this point the galleys were rowing directly into the current, before executing the technical turn around — or through — The Sorcerers, heading back towards the docks with the current, before flipping back around the Hanspar with the current, back up to The Sorcerers and home again. Many felt it was a harder race than the Margariad itself, even if the prize money were far less.
The conditions were unusual today, Mirko noted. There was a surprisingly high wind, and a perceptible swell, even this close to shore. Choppy white breakers slapped against the galley’s bows. It would make helming that much more difficult, he thought.
The vessels jostled on the start line, Serendipity up against Dragonchaser on one side and Animaxian’s Glory on the other; not an arrangement Mirko would have chosen. Inisse was visible at the helm, but ignored Mirko’s traditional call of good wishes. Drallenkoop was in high spirits on Dragonchaser, even offering a side-wager of fifty valut on the result. Mirko was no gambler, but on this occasion, motivated by an irrational surge of confidence, he agreed.
The horn sounded loud, and the race was underway. Serendipity settled into her customary ritual.
“Jenx! Beat Eight!”
Jenx beat out the rhythm, a fast one for the start of a long race. Mirko was determined to get a good start; he did not want to be adrift of Dragonchaser from the outset and more importantly, he wanted to be clear of Animaxian’s Glory as quickly as possible. Inisse was a dangerous and unpredictable influence.
Pull-pull-pull. Serendipity soon found her rhythm and moved strongly forward. Dragonchaser was also beating Eight but from a slightly less favourable start position; Serendipity inched ahead. Animaxian’s Glory was beating Seven and Serendipity moved up alongside her.
“Liudas! Careful now — watch Inisse! Jenx, keep them at Eight!”
Animaxian’s Glory started to drift across Serendipity; it might charitably have been ascribed to the wind, but more likely Inisse was ‘closing the door’ — a manoeuvre discourteous but not illegal.
“Liudas! Give her space — we have the speed of her — go wide, man!”
Liudas pulled the galley well wide of Animaxian’s Glory to pass, a course that brought them across Dragonchaser’s line.
“Ascalon! Straighten up!” shouted Drallenkoop. Mirko thought it best to ignore him.
Maintaining her Eight rhythm, Serendipity gradually pulled past Animaxian’s Glory. “Liudas! Back on the straight!” Liudas pulled Serendipity into line; Animaxian’s Glory was now full astern and unable to create any more mischief. Looking back, Mirko saw that Dragonchaser was having an easier passage.
“Jenx! Beat Seven!” Mirko called as he settled Serendipity into a more sustainable rhythm. There was plenty of time to reel the other boats back in. At the head of the field, Excelsior was pulling ahead strongly. Kestrel, which had enjoyed a favourable draw, was now dropping back, and Morvellos Devil moved ahead into second place. Serendipity was fourth with Dragonchaser just behind in fifth.
The positions were maintained as the galleys passed the Hanspar. Shortly after Serendipity caught and passed Kestrel, with Dragonchaser following immediately. Mirko was sure she was using him as a pace guide, and probably a wind-break too. She could go faster than this — but it was a long race and no doubt Drallenkoop was confident of getting past at The Sorcerers. The crew seemed happy with Seven and Liudas appeared relatively calm.
The Sorcerers approached. The current was running strongly today, and the wind this far into the open sea was strong also. If Liudas could get around the rocks competently, Morvellos Devil would be catchable before the end of the first lap.
“Liudas! Be ready! Steady does it!”
Liudas’ face was taut with concentration. Mirko noticed Dragonchaser increasing her tempo to increase the pressure; she was ready to profit from any error. But Liudas’ approach line was better than usual; he did not try to hug the rocks too close; perhaps the drills had been useful after all.
“Turn! Liudas! Turn! Turn!”
But Liudas had taken his lessons too much to heart. He let Serendipity move well beyond the normal point for a turn, to make a wide, lazy arc around Anazgro. The gap he’d left would fit a galley — and looking over his shoulder, Mirko saw that Dragonchaser had gone to Nine and was shooting through.
“Jenx! Nine, Nine!”
It was essential that Serendipity should hit the faster current past the final rock, Basile-Orario, still ahead — but the rapid move from Seven to Nine was a difficult one to bring off. Florian and Trajian’s quarters managed the transition successfully, but Skaidrys and Slovo were struggling. The combination of wide line and broken rhythm proved too much, and Dragonchaser came past to great cheers and catcalls from her crew.
Mirko cursed. Dragonchaser had played them for fools again: Drallenkoo
p had bided his time to the rocks, conserving energy and waiting for Serendipity to make her inevitable mistake; and Liudas had obliged with an amateur’s turn — again. It would be necessary to address the situation more seriously after the race, Elector’s son or no Elector’s son.
“Jenx! Beat Seven!”
Mirko felt that the best option was to consolidate while the current was with them on the leg back into the bay; if strength and morale permitted, they could put in another assault in the latter half of the race.
As the galleys came back to the Hanspar for the second time, Excelsior still led. There was a comfortable gap to Morvellos Devil in second, who was herself now strongly threatened by Dragonchaser. Serendipity remained secure in fourth, although Animaxian’s Glory was performing more strongly than expected to remain in contact in fifth. Realistically, at this stage of the race, the winner was likely to come from the first three, with Excelsior, a strong galley well commanded, probably the favourite.
Mirko instructed Jenx to increase the tempo as Serendipity approached the Hanspar. Ironically, with nothing now at stake and the race already lost, Liudas executed a perfect sweeping turn around the rock; a circumstance which caused Mirko more vexation than otherwise. Although the crew continued with a high tempo, Serendipity could make no headway on the craft ahead. Dragonchaser put in one of her customary surges and passed a tiring Morvellos Devil with ease. Approaching The Sorcerers for the second time, though, it seemed apparent that Excelsior still enjoyed a commanding lead.
Excelsior pulled off a fine turn around The Sorcerers; Drallenkoop’s only option now was to thread the needle between Anazgro and Rybalard, and then Rybalard and Basile-Orario, and Mirko was not surprised to see her do it. At the tempo she was rowing, it was an extraordinarily risky stratagem; but Drallenkoop shot through, to come out ahead. That was only half the battle, though; the current always died for the galley who threaded the needle, and Excelsior was coming from behind with a much stronger momentum. Mirko’s view was imperfect, but it looked as though Excelsior was still going to nose ahead before the run to the finish.
