by Tim Stretton
“The situations are dissimilar. Addacatzen had got involved in politics…”
“So have you, although you won’t see it. The result of this year’s Margariad is political.”
Mirko had a flash of insight. “And wasn’t Addacatzen part of the same political gang as Giedrus?”
“Yes.”
“So… are you working for Giedrus?”
Catzendralle nodded. “You know now enough to ruin me… to kill me, for that matter.”
Mirko sighed. “Why would I want either your ruin or your death, Catzen?”
“I don’t know… I just don’t like you having the option.”
“How did you come to work for Giedrus anyway?”
Catzen paused to set her thoughts in order. “When I was a teenager it became apparent that I had a talent for noticing things; for not being noticed myself; and a certain degree of what we might for want of a better term call intuition. After Addacatzen was killed, Giedrus asked me to undertake certain errands for him. Things went from there: he became Peremptor, and I got a freer and freer hand.”
Mirko took a long sip of his wine. “If you’re working for Giedrus, you can hardly let me win the Margariad, can you?”
Catzen looked into his face for a moment. “No.”
“You might even set fire to my galley, and think you were acting for the best, if the alternative is to kill me. It’s no different to selling Bernat the charts.”
“It isn’t that simple any more. At the start, you were just another agent; you gave me useful information and I paid you. The arrangement was not unusual.”
“And then?”
“Then I made the mistake of starting to like you. I worried that you were going to get yourself killed because you didn’t know the rules. Still I wasn’t too concerned about helping you, because it was axiomatic that there was no way Serendipity could beat Dragonchaser.”
“Helping me? I hadn’t noticed — that fiasco around Padizan aside.”
Catzen set her jaw. “It wasn’t a fiasco at all, even if the outcome differed from my expectations. But if you think I haven’t helped you apart from that: how about the mob in the street? Who do you think arranged your rescue from the Animaxianites? Who saw to it that you’d be safe in the Peremptor’s dungeons when the Animaxianite lynch mob was after you? And secured your subsequent release? And who gave you the hint on how to get rid of Liudas?”
Mirko released his breath slowly.
“Just so,” Catzen said. “To start with I was just looking after an agent I’d invested considerable time in; by the time I realised it was more complicated.”
“And now you’re in a quandary, Catzen: you know that I really can win the Margariad, and if I do your man is out of a job.”
Catzen folded her cloak more tightly around her legs. “You encapsulate the position exactly,” she said quietly. “I assume you will not be swayed from your plans.”
“You assume correctly,” said Mirko crisply. “I have a commitment to the crew who will be free if we win.”
“Only if you can trust Bartazan.”
“He offers a better option than defeat. Dragonchaser — or even Excelsior — may yet beat us; but we will not throw the race.”
“I only ever did any of this because I wanted to,” she said. “I will not hamper you now. If it means that much to you — then go ahead and win.”
Mirko stood up and walked over to look out of the window and into the courtyard. “Thank you,” he said. “There’s something else as well.”
“Yes?” came the voice from behind his shoulder.
“Last time we talked, you asked to keep my own counsel until I knew what I felt about Larien.”
“An easier decision for you to make now that you know she’s Drallenkoop’s mistress.”
“Yes and no,” he said, still staring from the window. “When I saw her in his arms, do you know what I felt? Rage and shame at being played for a fool; astonishment that I hadn’t realised what was happening; pain that someone I cared about had so abused my trust. But jealousy? Do you know she offered — in front of Drallenkoop — to throw him over and come with me instead? She looked so proud and determined: but I knew I didn’t love her, knew that I never had.”
“And?” Catzen’s voice was softer; Mirko could sense her at his shoulder.
He turned to face her. “You know the rest, Catzen. All the feelings you believe I had for Larien, I have for you…”
Catzen looked down at her feet with a nervous laugh. “I am hardly dressed for an interview of this nature.”
Mirko sighed in exasperation. “You are evading me again.”
“Mirko,” she said, touching his arm. “You would not believe how often I have dreamed about this moment.” She laughed again. “And I’ve never been in my pyjamas when it happened. But it scares me…”
“What is there to be scared of, Catzen?”
“I am not — as you may have noticed — a person designed for easy intimacy. My experiences of it in the past have not been ones I recall with pleasure. I am more worried about being hurt than keen to be loved.”
Mirko gently took her in his arms. “And why do you think I would hurt you?”
“Can you guarantee not to get yourself killed?”
“Of course not; but neither can you. You have to decide whether to trust me, Catzen.”
She disengaged herself and walked to the other side of the room. “Yes,” she said with a sad smile. “Trust is what it’s all about.”
“Why do you think you can’t?”
“There are two big secrets in my life. One I’ve told you today, about Giedrus.”
“You might as well tell me the other,” said Mirko with a smile.
“When I’m ready, I will,” she said. “That’s not today, with my heart racing and my head spinning. You might not feel the same way about me afterwards.”
Mirko walked over towards her. “The sooner you tell me, the sooner you’ll know.”
“It’s not that simple, Mirko. Can’t you just be happy with what you have for now?”
Mirko sighed. “I suppose so. But one day you will have to trust me; you can’t keep me at a distance for ever.”
“No,” she said. “I can’t, can I…” looking into his eyes and kissing him. “Come with me; I don’t think I’ve shown you my chamber yet…”
CHAPTER 28
M
irko awoke the next morning satisfied that Larien’s characterisations of his amorous potentials as ‘mechanical’, ‘perfunctory’ and the like were no more than malicious slanders. Catzen might have her reservations about intimacy, but to Mirko’s admittedly subjective perceptions, once she overcame her inhibitions there was little to complain about.
“You can’t afford to be found here,” she said as she rolled out of bed, her pyjamas long since discarded. “Both Koopendrall and Bartazan might take some convincing that there was a legitimate reason for you staying.”
Mirko smiled. “I have to go, anyway. I need to make sure that no-one managed to set fire to Serendipity.”
“I am going to speak to Giedrus straight away, to find out what he knows.”
“You may want to get dressed first.”
She aimed a mock swipe at him. “And don’t take this the wrong way — but don’t come back here.”
Mirko laid back on the bed. “I didn’t imagine you kept open house. You still have — reservations…”
Catzen pulled on a pair of breeches and a loose cotton shirt. “I have no reservations at all about you,” she said. “But until I’ve told you the ‘second secret’ there is no real relationship, is there?”
“Only you can decide when — or if — you’re going to tell me. It’s your judgement that it’s so important.”
“Believe me, Mirko, it’s important. You would never forgive me if I kept it back from you.”
Mirko shrugged. “I won’t pretend I understand, Catzen; but I’ll let you handle this your way. You’ve been right so far.”<
br />
She leaned over the bed and kissed him. “Thank you,” she said. “I hope you won’t regret it.”
As soon as Catzen had departed Mirko dressed and left via the discreet gate she had directed him to. The sun was bright and warm, and he walked down the hill towards the Old Town rather than summoning a rattlejack, trusting to the walk to clear his head. The past two days had been packed with more events than he could readily assimilate: the astounding victory over Spray; the fire on the waterfront; Drallenkoop and Larien; and finally last night with Catzen. He remained convinced that his feelings for Catzen were more deeply rooted than they had been for Larien, but he did not pretend to himself that he knew how things would turn out. Catzen was still keeping a large part of herself screened off from him; but she had trusted him this far, and he was confident that sooner or later she would tell him the ‘second secret’. He remained baffled at what could be more significant than admitting she worked for the Peremptor, which she had divulged almost casually. Too casually? He shook his head; either he trusted her or he didn’t. But it wasn’t easy to have blind faith in another person’s motives, especially when that someone was professionally manipulative. Maybe it wasn’t just Catzen who was daunted by the idea of intimacy.
Mirko decided to check the Jurbarkas Docks before calling in at the Urmaleškas. Morvellos Devil still smoked in the daylight, the mast completely gone and the hull severely damaged. To all intents and purposes the galley was destroyed; it would probably be easier to build a new one than attempt to rebuild. Whatever course of action Lord Garlin decided upon, his galley would not be racing in this year’s Margariad. Lammerkin would be stuck on thirteen Margariads for another year.
Lammerkin himself sat forlornly on the sea-wall, looking out at Excelsior and Kestrel, the only galleys choosing to practice this morning. The others remained moored, protected in most cases by armed guards. Responding to a mournful wave from Lammerkin, Mirko walked over.
“This is your doing,” said Lammerkin quietly.
“Hardly,” said Mirko. “I didn’t set the fire.”
“Whoever did wanted to burn Serendipity, not Morvellos Devil.”
“Probably,” said Mirko with a shrug. “The blame lies with the arsonist, not the intended victim.”
“This was my last chance,” said Lammerkin. “Lord Garlin has made it clear that he is intending to appoint a younger master as soon as he can find one. My only hope was to race well this year, maybe force my way into the top three. That’s all gone now.”
“I’m sorry, Lammerkin. But surely a man with your record can secure another galley?”
“Not among the decent boats,” he said sadly. “Merchants like Darizun, minor lords like Widderling; they can afford to outfit a galley and scrape together thirty-odd racing slaves; but it’s a vanity for them, they can’t afford the quality of slave necessary to keep with the pack. When race day comes around they usually withdraw rather than face humiliation. It’s no end to a career for a man like me.”
Mirko could think of no suitable response. Lammerkin sourly collected his thoughts and made his way back into the town. Mirko added one to his current list of enemies, despite the injustice of Lammerkin’s feelings.
Over at Serendipity Florian presided over a group of the more trustworthy slaves: Trajian, Skaidrys and Jenx prominent among them. “Any news?” asked Mirko.
“Guess!” said Florian with a laugh. “The culprit has been apprehended.”
“Rapid work!”
“It’s our old friend Orstas.”
Mirko had to work to avoid his jaw dropping. “Orstas! Could he not identify his own galley?”
“Seemingly not — especially as he was somewhat drunk at the time.”
Mirko shook his head wonderingly. “For a fact, he has a grudge against both me and Bartazan. Who caught him?”
“Vaidmantas’ men had him in custody within a couple of hours. I can only assume that they had a tip-off.”
“Did Orstas plan and execute the act alone?”
Florian shook his head in bafflement. “I assume so: who would employ someone as unstable as Orstas to carry out a daring and dangerous plan?”
Mirko had his doubts; Orstas may have carried out the plan; but he must have had help. Maybe Orstas was innocent, a convenient scapegoat to allow the true culprit to escape. Events were too complicated for his understanding.
He turned as he heard the sound of marching feet. A small troop of militia in Bartazan Azure was stepping along the road in synchrony: at their side, on a sleek pacer, rode Bartazan himself.
“Good morning, my lord!” called Mirko. Bartazan merely nodded as the troops arrayed themselves before Serendipity.
“You slaves can return to the Urmaleškas,” he said. “My militia will guard the galley now. Well done — now get some sleep and be ready for training.”
Mirko was almost impressed that Bartazan had at last realised that the crew would perform better if allowed adequate rest. He was not surprised that he did not trust the Peremptor’s Constables to mount a safe watch, and indeed he would not have done so himself in the same situation.
Bartazan vaulted from his pacer and strode towards Mirko. He looked energetic, focused, confident: the proximity of the race — and the Election — seemed to be inspiring him.
“Ascalon! You and I must talk.”
“I am at your disposal; there’ll be no training today.”
“I don’t know why you’re smirking. You have much to explain.”
Mirko was puzzled. “I know very little. The Constables have arrested Orstas, who may or may not be the culprit.”
Bartazan shook his head impatiently. “I’m more interested in what you were doing at House Drall last night.”
Mirko’s heart pounded. How could Bartazan know that already? And what legitimate excuse could he offer?
“I was paying a social call,” he said, as confidently as he could.
“Really? While my galley was at risk of arson, at the estate of my chief rival.”
Mirko nodded. “That is correct, my lord. I had assured myself of Serendipity’s safety and left Florian to ensure that no unpleasant surprises occurred.”
“Hmmm. No doubt you will wish to tell me the nature of your call at Darklings.”
“It was a private matter, my lord, in no way connected with the Margariad.”
“Am I to assume you are conducting an amour at Darklings?”
“I would not put the matter in quite that way; however I was visiting a lady.”
Bartazan kicked at a stone in exasperation. “Does it not occur to you that this behaviour is foolish in the extreme? What if Koopendrall, or Drallenkoop, had seen you? Were you not concerned by the inevitability that I would learn of your rashness?”
“No, my lord. My conscience was clear and I feared no adverse consequences.”
Bartazan grunted. “I hope she was worth it — especially if it keeps you away from Larien.”
“You need have no fears on that score, my lord. Your niece and I are not conducting any form of improper relationship.”
“You are aware,” said Bartazan with a brisk nod, “that I disbelieve virtually everything you say?”
Mirko made a noncommittal gesture. “There is little I can do to alter that, my lord.”
“Your security hangs on the fact that I believe that, despite everything, you can and will win the Margariad for me. Be assured that if you double-cross me, I will kill you.”
Mirko smiled. “Your confidence is well-placed. The crew believe in me — and only me — and given a fair race I think we can beat Dragonchaser. This year she is winning on reputation rather than excellence.”
“You are an assured customer, Ascalon. I will tell you an important piece of information.”
“Go ahead.”
“The Elector Algimantas has been nominated Secretary of Determinations.”
Bartazan seemed to feel this news needed no further elaboration. Mirko merely raised his eyebrows.
>
“Algimantas,” continued Bartazan, “for reasons we need not explore here, feels a keen interest in securing my election. The Secretary of Determinations is responsible for organising the Election; and in securing the post for one of my own supporters I have gained a certain advantage.”
“I am at a loss as to understand why.”
Bartazan permitted himself a thin smile. “Algimantas has set the date for the Election: one week from today, immediately on conclusion of the Margariad, on the waterfront. Every Elector will naturally be present for the race, and no objection can be raised to holding the Election immediately.”
“And you feel that if we win the Margariad you will be acclaimed on the spot…”
“Just so.”
“This may be an indiscreet question: but do you have enough votes to be able to win anyway?”
Bartazan narrowed his eyes. “These calculations are carried out with great deliberation — in private. They are not the subject of casual gossip.”
Mirko rubbed his chin. “The matter is of no great consequence — to me, at least.”
“Exactly so, Captain. Your job is the same regardless. If it exhorts you to greater zeal, though: I need twenty-six votes to secure my election. Twenty-three are mine beyond a doubt; I reckon Giedrus’ tally at twenty-two, but with the five waverers more likely to back him than me. Do not let me down.”
Mirko smiled a crisp brittle smile. “I have undergone many trials in my commitment to make Serendipity the fastest galley on the water: I have been inconvenienced and my life has been threatened on more than one occasion. I would be loath to see those efforts go to waste. And naturally my crew look forward to their freedom.”
“No doubt they do, Captain, no doubt they do,” said Bartazan, returning Mirko’s smile. “The day of the Margariad will be an eventful one, make no mistake.”
CHAPTER 29
M
irko returned to his lodgings at the Waterside weary in mind and body. The previous night, with the fire and his prolonged exertions with Catzen, had afforded little opportunity for sleep. With a brief nod to Panduletta, he slipped up the stairs to his rooms and fell into an immediate dreamless sleep.
