Dragonchaser (The Annals of Mondia)

by Tim Stretton

  Mirko laughed. “I’m sorry — Catzen. I get too used to Larien. And no, I haven’t forgotten what you warned me about her.”

  “Why did you want to see me?” she asked. “I assume it will take some time, and I’ve brought a pitcher of good Garganet wine with me.”

  Mirko could not help but be suspicious at this unprecedented friendliness, but felt that tact compelled him to take it at face value. Taking the goblet Catzendralle had handed him, he said:

  “There are several things. I have a report for you, which you can read at your leisure.”

  Catzendralle took the paper and tucked it into her dress.

  “And then I wanted to say thank you for getting me released. At least, I assume it was you.”

  Catzendralle’s deep dark eyes twinkled. “I might as well accept the credit since you’re so ready to offer it.”

  “And finally, I’d like to ask a favour. Or if you want, you can treat it as my douceur this time.”

  Catzendralle sat up straighter in her seat and took a long sip of her wine. “Oh yes?”

  “Give me Liudas.”

  “In what sense?”

  “You never tire of telling me you know everything about everyone. I want to know enough about Liudas to get him off my boat.”

  “It’s Bartazan’s boat — which I assume is the problem. Do I deduce you want to dispense with his services and Bartazan doesn’t?”

  “I don’t think that’s any secret. I want you to tell me whatever I need to know about him to make him resign.”

  Catzendralle stood up and went to sit on the grass. “Why should I?” she said quietly. “You know that I can’t afford to have you win the Margariad; what better than to keep you lumbered with a helm like Liudas?”

  “That implies you think I can win without him. Implied compliments are often the most sincere.”

  “Mirko, this isn’t a game. Yes, I think you can win, and I know more about galleys than you think. With the right helm, I do think you’d push Dragonchaser. But that wouldn’t help me, and I don’t think it would help you.”

  “Catzendralle — Catzen — the galleys are all I’ve got. You know I can’t go back to Garganet and I don’t want to be your agent forever. This is important to me: if I lose, I lose, but I want to do it on my own terms.”

  “Mirko, you aren’t talking in language I understand. You’ve given me no reason to help you.”

  “Other than helping me to get something I want. I thought that’s what friends did.”

  “That’s not fair, Mirko. I’ve done everything I can to help you so far.”

  “Like having Padizan killed?”

  Catzendralle flushed. “I’ve helped you more than you know. I did save you over Inisse, even if things didn’t turn out as I’d expected. And have you ever asked yourself how you escaped from the Animaxianites? Or why you happened to be in the safest place in Paladria the night they came to kill you? Or why they don’t want to kill you any more?”

  “You?”

  “I’ve said more than I should.”

  “I didn’t ask you to help me.”

  “You’d be dead if I hadn’t. The Animaxianites would have killed you either time, and Bartazan would have done far worse if he knew even a fraction of your activities.”

  “Thank you,” said Mirko stiffly. “But this favour I am asking you for. Think of it like this. If Liudas resigns from the boat, do you think Nool Ipolitas will be happy? Won’t he be suspicious that Bartazan has put pressure on him? Bartazan needs Nool Ipolitas’ vote, and his cronies. How about taking this chance to sow some dissension?”

  “That doesn’t help me if you win the Margariad.”

  “You really do think I can do it.”

  “Who would you put at the helm?”

  “Florian. He’s helmed in Garganet, he’s rowed the bay for three years. He’ll be better than Liudas, that’s for sure.”

  Catzendralle sighed. “I should say no out of hand; but I’ll think about it. I need to assess the potential outcomes. Will that do for now? I don’t want us to argue with half the bottle left.”

  Mirko smiled and raised his goblet. “To friendship.”

  “Friendship.”

  They sat in companionable silence and savoured the fine Garganet wine, which brought back many memories for Mirko.

  “Do you like my secret garden?” asked Catzendralle.

  “It’s magical,” said Mirko. “Timeless.”

  “And so it is, literally,” said Catzendralle. “Had you forgotten the maintenance spell? This garden is unchanged for three hundred years.”

  “I find it hard to believe. I never imagined the Old Craft to be so benign.”

  “It was never the Old Craft that was evil,” she said. “It was the use that people put it to. It’s no different to any other form of power in that sense. Paladria was never Gammerling: there were no lords of the Old Craft here. When East Gammerling was blasted, of course we drove out the Old Craft the same as everywhere else. But like so many other things here, it had never come across the mountains with full force anyway.”

  “You seem almost nostalgic for the Old Craft.”

  Catzendralle was briefly silent. “I wouldn’t want you to think that. The Old Craft has been driven from our realms for good reason; but because it was never loved in Paladria, it’s never been truly hated, either. I could tell you of folk even now who sport with it — high born ones in some cases. Death to them if they’re caught, of course, but can you imagine such dabblings in West Gammerling or the Emmenrule?”

  “You intrigue me — there are people in Paladria who practice the Old Craft?”

  “I didn’t say that. The Old Craft requires a gift — if you aren’t born with it, no amount of study will give it to you. There are some in the city who flirt with the trappings: grimoires, conjurations and the like. It’s a frisson, like an orgy — which it often accompanies — but with a whiff of danger. It has no more to do with the real Old Craft than Bartazan has to do with public service.”

  “You are well informed, Catzen.”

  “I always am, Mirko, I always am.”

  Mirko smiled. “You won’t forget to think about Liudas?”

  “I’ve already given you your answer,” she said. “You just need to know where to find it.”

  Sleep was elusive for Mirko that night; the day had contained too much to digest, and his mind raced through the small hours. A night-owl hooted with irritating irregularity, and eventually Mirko rose from his bed and poured himself a pitcher of ale.

  All in all, he reflected as he sipped his drink, the race itself had not gone badly. Liudas aside, Serendipity had acquitted herself favourably. She was a match — or close to it — for both Dragonchaser and Excelsior in a straight line, and ahead of all the others. Dragonchaser came into her own around the rocks, and it was for this reason imperative that Liudas were dismissed; a question to ponder later. Given, by whatever means, a competent helm, there was no reason at all why Serendipity could not mount a serious challenge in the Margariad.

  Dragonchaser, too, had revealed unexpected flaws which could only help his case. She had been fortunate to beat Excelsior today; the baulking manoeuvre could easily have backfired, and Drallenkoop’s subsequent conduct indicated how badly he had been discomfited. The ‘duel’ had served to undermine his popularity, previously unassailable, and created a valuable fund of malice between his two greatest rivals. Here too were fine grounds for optimism.

  His relationships with both Larien and Catzendralle — Catzen — were no more straightforward. Larien was as inconstant as the wind: today, she had flared up on the slightest provocation, and then gone to great pains to soothe his feelings; and then tried to persuade him to make his future in Paladria. She was undeniably alluring, and he flattered herself that she was attracted to him; but he found her unpredictability unsettling, and she undoubtedly worked to keep him at a distance. On any number of occasions their relationship had seemed set to blossom, only for some imp
ediment to appear between them. He sensed this represented an underlying pattern in their relationship.

  Catzendralle was scarcely any easier to read. Their relationship was based — or had been — on the gold she paid him, but that seemed to be less and less the case. That was as much down to Mirko himself, he supposed: if he hadn’t rescued Minalgas Inisse to prove to Catzen that he wasn’t motivated by money, things would never have developed the way they had. But now he knew who she was and who she worked for; and as she’d implied, from that point onwards she had either to trust him or kill him. Fortunately she’d preferred the former option. Now it was ‘call me Catzen’, and she’d even considered giving him Liudas — perhaps. In some ways he felt a closer affinity with her than he did Larien. She was much more consistent in her attitudes, and she’d certainly saved him over Inisse, even if he didn’t necessarily believe her about the Animaxianites and his imprisonment. All it needed now was for her to give him Liudas. What had she said? I’ve already given you your answer. You just need to know where to find it. But she hadn’t at all; she’d gone on to small talk about maintenance spells and the Old Craft … unless … it couldn’t be that simple, could it? I’ve already given you your answer. Laughing aloud, Mirko leaped from his seat.

  CHAPTER 21

  M

  irko had given the crew the next day off; their muscles would be groaning after The Sorcerers and he saw no profit in flogging them any further. It also meant he did not have to see Liudas, for whom he had different plans. After spending a pleasant morning with a charming Larien, he made his way down to the Urmaleškas and summoned Florian, Trajian, Skaidrys and Jenx. The fourth quarterman, Slovo, he could not bring himself to trust.

  The group soon found themselves in the Waterside where Panduletta found them a secluded booth. Once the mugs of Widdershins had been brought, Mirko moved on to business.

  “Florian,” he said. “How would you like to be the helm of Serendipity?”

  “Serendipity already has a helm — of a sort, at least.”

  “You four will help me change that,” he said. “Florian, if there were no Liudas, how would you feel?”

  “I don’t want the job badly enough to kill him for it.”

  “You won’t have to.”

  “In that case,” said Florian, “I’ve rowed these waters for three years; I know the currents and I know how to helm. What do we need to do?”

  “Boy! More beer!” called Mirko. “Here’s what we need to do.”

  Late that night, Ipolitas Liudas was entertaining a young woman of flexible principles in his apartments when a series of noises disturbed him. He called irritably on his two house slaves, but elicited no response. With a muttered apology to his companion, he went to the front of the house to investigate.

  Two figures in black, their faces covered by masks, loomed before him. The larger, bulky and menacing, made a muffled snorting sound. The smaller figure pranced and hopped around the chamber: “Ipolitas Liudas! Ipolitas Liudas!” it chanted. “Bring me to Ipolitas Liudas!”

  “Liu — Das…” whispered the other heavily.

  Two more masked black figures stepped from the shadows. “Liudas! Liudas! We call on Ipolitas Liudas!”

  Liudas slunk back in alarm. The small prancing figure gyrated with ever greater speed. “I smell Liudas — you are Liudas!”

  “Ah — no, you’re mistaken — no Liudas here.”

  The large figure hissed. “This is the one who broke my rest. He must be extinguished!”

  Liudas shrunk back against the wall. The prancing figure advanced towards him. “I am the demon Maibalides!” he announced with a shrill cry. “I come from Below!”

  “No!” cried Liudas. “Leave me!”

  Maibalides continued. “This is Bambalar,” he said, indicating the larger figure. “Your meddlings have disturbed his eternal rest.”

  Liudas stared, wide-eyed in terror. “The balance must be righted,” shrieked Maibalides. “One for one, one for one! One has left eternal rest, another must begin it.”

  “You — no, no!” Liudas sobbed. “It was a prank, no more.”

  Maibalides shook his head sadly, his caperings ceasing in intensity. “The Old Craft does not admit of ‘pranks’,” he said. “You must accompany the demons Alizar and Elizar as they take you Below.”

  The two black figures from the shadows stepped further forward, reaching out for Liudas.

  “Please!” wept Liudas. “It was an error, trivial, foolish. I meant no harm.”

  A fifth figure in black stepped from a place of concealment to whisper in Maibalides’ ear. Maibalides nodded.

  “Liudas,” he said heavily. “Do you truly repent of your acts?”

  “Yes, yes — anything! I’ll do anything!”

  “The damage is small, on this occasion,” said Maibalides. “Your potential to do harm is great, however. You must swear to forsake the Old Craft forever.”

  “Yes! I abjure and repudiate it utterly!”

  “Yield up, then, your grimoires, your folios, your librams!”

  “But —”

  “Choose! Yield them up to me, or accompany me Below.”

  “A moment! I will of course furnish the grimoire immediately.”

  Maibalides nodded. “Attend him,” he instructed Alizar and Elizar.

  Liudas shuffled back into another room, making his way to a locked cabinet which, after several fumbling attempts, he managed to unlock. He handed over a bound volume and several other adjuncts which the demons briefly inspected. The trio returned to the main room, where the fifth figure studied the material in more detail, before nodding to Maibalides.

  “Ipolitas Liudas!” called Maibalides, with greater rapidity in his movements. “You are chastised! Never again meddle with powers you do not understand! Consider yourself a fortunate man!”

  Liudas babbled something unintelligible; the demons swiftly left the room, at least two of them failing in their attempts to control sniggers.

  Early the next morning Mirko presented himself at Liudas’ town house on his fine strider Boodle. The house-slave on the door manifested a black eye and responded with a surly gravity to Mirko’s request to speak to his master. Some minutes later he returned and with poor grace invited Mirko to enter the parlour, where a pale Liudas awaited. Even his trim beard seemed ragged today.

  “Liudas, good morning!” exclaimed Mirko.

  Liudas nodded heavily. “I am by no means glad to see you. I have experienced a disturbing night.”

  “Wine can be a terrible thing when taken to excess.”

  Liudas thought better of an explanation. “I hope you will state your business concisely. I understood you were not intending to drill today.”

  “My intent was to ask whether you had reconsidered your resignation.”

  Liudas set his jaw. “I most certainly have not. I will attend for training tomorrow.”

  “I should have thought you would be wary of — meddling — in events beyond your understanding.”

  Liudas coloured. “‘Meddling’? Why do you say that?”

  “No reason. Helmsmanship is a calling beyond your current capacities.”

  “Ah. Well, I do not find myself minded to resign from Serendipity. I will see you tomorrow, if that is the sole purpose of your business.”

  “It isn’t quite that simple, Liudas.” He brought from his coat a brass object of uncertain purpose. Liudas blanched.

  “Where did you get that?”

  Mirko shrugged.

  “What is it?” Liudas asked.

  “You tell me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve.”

  “How about this?” Mirko produced a volume. “I believe it’s known as a ‘grimoire’.”

  “You can’t do this!”

  “I’ve done it. I understand the Old Craft is not popular in Paladria. Let me be completely explicit: when I learn that you have tendered your resignation, I return your artefacts. Until then, I retain them. If I
become impatient, I turn them over to the Peremptor’s Constables.”

  “I’ll tell them I’ve never seen them! It’s you who’ll have explaining to do!”

  Mirko sighed. “In addition, everyone in Paladria, from Elector to doxy, will learn how you were terrified by five men in sheets and masks. If my nose didn’t mislead me, you went so far as to soil your breeks; an amusing anecdote, don’t you think?”

  Liudas narrowed his eyes. “I told Bartazan you could not be trusted.”

  Mirko bowed. “You have until tonight to see Bartazan. Good day to you.”

  Without further ceremony he left the house and leaped astride Boodle. His work had proved extremely satisfactory; all that remained was to install Florian at the helm. And sometime he’d have to say thank-you to Catzen.

  The slaves were exercising aimlessly in their compound at Urmaleškas when Mirko arrived. Immediately he summoned Florian, Trajian, Jenx and Skaidrys. A nearby rattlejack conveyed them down to the Waterside where Panduletta was quick to ensure they were adequately supplied with Widdershins.

  “Thank you for your efforts last night,” said Mirko, raising his mug. “Liudas has assured me this morning that he will be resigning as helm of Serendipity, which has of course been the object of our labours.”

  Trajian smiled. “Well done, Ascalon.” Jenx and Skaidrys nodded in agreement.

  Florian said: “That would appear to leave the position vacant. Do you have a replacement in mind?”

  Mirko smiled. “The man in question will need to be familiar with the principles of helmsmanship, ideally acquainted too with current and tidal conditions in the Bay of Paladria. The best candidates are likely also to have some experience of galley racing.”

  Florian savoured his beer. “The prime candidate would appear to be Drallenkoop, despite his recent mishaps. A decent case might also be made for Raïdis, and how can we forget the daring Minalgas Inisse?”

  “It seems to me unlikely that any of these would be eager to come aboard Serendipity.”

  “The field narrows beyond that point. Jukundas, formerly of Animaxian’s Glory, is currently without employment, but largely for good reason.”