by Tim Stretton
Catzen was on the rear saddle of the galumpher. “Jump on!” she cried. “Ride for your life! Ride for the gate.”
Mirko wondered Catzen could not guide the galumpher, his own skills being largely unsuited for the purpose; but he supposed she had her reasons. He bellowed at the beast in attempt to prompt it into action; the galumpher gathered speed, and behind him Catzen performed a complex manoeuvre to face backwards in her saddle. From the saddlebag she unclipped a bow, and slung a quarrel of arrows over her shoulder. That was why she was sitting at the back.
The guards were still disorganised in their pursuit. Had they thought to shut the outer gate immediately, Mirko and Catzen would have been trapped inside; as it was, before the call “Lower the gates!” went up, the galumpher was almost through; and although Catzen had to duck as the grille came down, the gate was negotiated with room to spare.
Catzen crowed with laughter as those pursuers who had thought to mount their own galumphers were brought up short; for the gate designed to keep her and Mirko in had only detained the pursuers; Vaidmantas chief among them, bellowing furiously at the hapless underlings.
“Where to?” cried Mirko. “Darklings?”
Catzen shook her head. “Wrong direction — we need to get down to the docks, where there are people.”
“The Waterside!”
Catzen nodded emphatically. “And quickly!”
Behind them, the guards had raised the gate. Looking round, Mirko quickly counted six pursuers, Vaidmantas at their head. Catzen wordlessly pulled her bow back, awaiting the moment they should come within range.
The galumpher clattered down the hill, the sea to their left, the sun rising on the horizon behind them. Mirko could hear the galumphers of the pursuers gaining on them. “Can’t you slow them down?” said Mirko.
“No point in shooting at them yet — I don’t have arrows to waste.”
The road to the Old Town stretched out before them, the buildings like scale models below them; at the rate the Guards were gaining, all too far away.
“Faster!” said Catzen tersely. Mirko did not dignify the remark with a response. Did she think he was dawdling deliberately? He heard the thrum of the bow behind him, and a cry of pain; one of the Guards crashed to the road, throwing up a cloud of dust. Vaidmantas shouted something indeterminate which Mirko did not feel compelled to stop and listen to.
“They won’t shoot at us,” said Catzen, turning her head. “A dead Elector’s cousin might be too difficult to explain. They’d much prefer to murder us in secret.”
“Reassuring,” said Mirko dryly.
“It ought to be; that reluctance is keeping us alive.”
The bow thrummed again. Catzen swore softly. “Can’t you ride that more smoothly?” she asked irritably. “I need a steady base to shoot from.”
“I can trot if you’d prefer a less challenging environment.”
Catzen said nothing but merely loosed another unsuccessful arrow.
“Mirko! They’re getting close!”
Mirko risked turning his head to look behind; the view was not encouraging. He kicked at the galumpher’s sides but there was no answering surge; the creature was already at the meagre limits of its capacity. Why could Catzen, who appeared not to be short of funds, not have invested in a mount capable of several speeds, including ‘rapid’? The populated heart of the Old Town lay well ahead; at this rate they would be over-run.
“I’ve no choice,” said Catzen. “I’m going to have to shoot Vaidmantas — for which there will be a price later…”
“Later is later,” said Mirko. “It’s now we need to worry about. Haven’t you been shooting at him before?”
Catzen shook her head. “There was no need if we could get away. But I don’t think we can. Slow down, rise steady.”
Mirko reined in the galumpher. Catzen raised herself in her stirrups to stand tall. Vaidmantas, at the head of the pursuers, seemed heedless of his danger. At this distance it would take a remarkable shot to bring him down.
But Catzen was a remarkable shot. Her face expressionless, her windblown hair framing her features, she let go an easy shot with seemingly no force. Mirko could not follow the arrow’s flight, but then he saw the arrow protruding from Vaidmantas’ shoulder. With his good arm he fought to bring his galumpher under control, but he was thrown into the dirt, landing heavily on the arrow and shoulder with a cry of rage and pain. The other four Guards reined in indecisively.
“Now! Go! Go! Go!” cried Catzen. “We are nearly there!”
Two guards pulled Vaidmantas into a sitting position. The other two, in response to a curse from Vaidmantas, set off again in pursuit, the low early morning sun casting shadows of vast length in the direction of Mirko and Catzen. But long as the shadows were, they could not bridge the gap between pursued and pursuers. Quickly they lost heart, and Mirko was able to enter the populated streets of the Old Town with something like dignity.
“Make for the Waterside,” said Catzen. “We can wait there until the crowds thicken; we’ll be safe enough until after the race, at least.”
Mirko dismounted in the patrons’ yard at the Waterside; never had the dingy old tavern looked so homely. He reached out a hand and helped Catzen down; she looked taut and strained but otherwise composed.
“Panduletta!” he called. “Open up, it’s Mirko!”
It was Cambyryna who pulled back the shutters and let them in.
“Good morrow, sir. The mistress gave orders you was to be taken straight to her if you showed up. She didn’t say anything about your lady friend.”
Mirko took Catzen by the hand. “The Lady Catzendralle goes everywhere I do. Take us to Panduletta.”
They were conducted up the narrow winding staircase to Panduletta’s private chambers, where Florian was sitting propped up in her bed, bandages around his head and shoulders, but a weak smile on his face.
“Florian!” cried Mirko. “You seem to be alive.”
Florian shrugged, then winced at the effect this had on his shoulder. “I believe so.”
“You’re no use to me like that, though. You were supposed to be helming a galley today.”
Florian looked down. “I’m sorry I sneaked out, for what it’s worth. On this one occasion, at least, you were right.”
Panduletta broke in. “Can’t the two of you stop bickering? You are both so — so Garganet, all prickliness and pride.”
“Sorry,” said Mirko. “I have been pre-occupied.”
Florian gave Catzen an appraising glance. “So it would seem.”
Mirko controlled a flush. “That wasn’t what I meant; although may I introduce you to your replacement, the Lady Catzendralle.”
“ ‘Replacement’?”
“Someone has to steer today. My lady has come through a rigorous selection process.”
Florian muttered something unintelligible, only the words “in your bed” being generally audible.
“I beg your pardon, Florian?”
“Nothing. My wits have been addled by that unutterable quack Marijus’ Number 3 tincture. Do you know what he makes it from?”
“I’m not sure I want to,” said Mirko.
“Well, I’m telling you anyway: goat-shit.”
“I thought there was a smell in here,” said Catzen. “Perhaps some fresh air would benefit us all.”
Florian looked at her with distaste. “Don’t you wreck my galley today.”
Mirko smiled. “Your galley? If you aren’t careful you’ll be identifying with the cause next.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Ascalon. If you win — if she can steer — I’m a free man this evening. That’s worth a bump on the head.”
“I can’t imagine,” said Mirko, “that the Lord Bartazan — or Peremptor Bartazan, under this scenario — will automatically release non-participant crew members.”
Florian looked dumbstruck. “He must! I am part of the team.”
“Quite frankly, Florian,” said Catzen, “I think you will
be fortunate to see any slaveries remitted today, participant or not. I don’t think Bartazan will be interested in details tonight.”
“We have a deal,” said Mirko with a frown. “He fought hard enough against the concession, which makes me believe he’s sincere in it. That deal is that ‘the slaves’ will be freed — and that includes you, Florian. We won’t race without that assurance.”
Florian gave a weak smile. “I don’t know whether that’s noble principle or teary sentimentality.”
Catzen’s face flushed red. “It’s an utterly stupid idea to antagonise Bartazan over something so trivial,” she snapped at Florian, “but it’s exactly the sort of pig-headed perverse self-defeating decency that Mirko always shows.”
Florian tried half-heartedly to suppress a sneer. “If we don’t win, today, my lady, I hope you drown. All Ascalon needs is some nectar-whelped Electorbitch telling him he’s wonderful and noble and too good for this cruel world. I wasn’t over-fond of Larien, but at least she—”
“Florian, that is more than enough,” said Mirko in a surprisingly level tone. “You know nothing about Catzen, and I won’t allow you to speak to her that way!”
“Mirko, it’s not worth worrying about. Florian is naturally concerned that I will show his helmsmanship up by my own élan.”
Panduletta held up her hands. “Stop this, all of you! Marijus said that Florian was to get rest, not argument. How will he feel when he makes his morning call and finds him wrangling?”
“Sorry,” said Mirko.
“My apologies,” said Catzen. “I am your guest, mistress Panduletta, and I display coarse and unbecoming manners.”
Catzen wandered over to the window and looked out. The sun was rising in the sky. “Look, Mirko!” she cried, all animosities forgotten. “You can see all the galleys on their jetties. Don’t they make a fine sight?”
Mirko walked across to join her at the window. In accordance with race tradition, the galleys were all arrayed in colourful new sails. Serendipity floated proud, her hull freshly painted in Azure chequer, a sail of deepest indigo with the leaping woe-fish emblem of the House of Bartazan in the centre. Adjacent was the scarlet sail of Dragonchaser with its rampant dragon emblazoned. Excelsior’s purple sail made a fine contrast with the brilliant white of Animaxian’s Glory, while the yellow and orange striping of Kestrel was surely too bold for most tastes.
Catzen’s large brown eyes were alight. “You cannot imagine how long this has been a dream for me. So many Margariads I have watched, cheering for Sunrise or — sorry — Dragonchaser. I always hoped that one day I might sail on one of those proud galleys. And here I am!”
Florian snorted. “Ipolitas Liudas could have said much the same — in fact, he probably did. Love of the galleys doesn’t make a helm.”
“That’s enough, Florian,” said Mirko. “Catzendralle is the helm we have today — solely as a result of your own folly and negligence. Your best contribution is to keep your thoughts to yourself, especially as you have no encouragement to offer.”
Panduletta frowned. “Can’t you at least wish them good luck, Florian?” she said. “You and Mirko have been through too much together.”
Mirko raised his hands in a placatory gesture. “I’d be frustrated too if I’d missed out on the race, and with everything having gone so well too.”
Florian looked at him sourly. “I may have been unnecessarily churlish,” he said. “I have a vested interest in you winning, and I’ve no doubt that the Lady Catzendralle will prove a superior helm to witch-boy Liudas.”
“Shall we go?” said Catzen in a brittle tone. “I would like to mingle with the crowds before the race. We’ll be safe enough from Vaidmantas’ men now there are people on the street.”
Mirko nodded. He could well understand her discomfort at Florian’s allusion even though it hadn’t been directed at her.
“Florian, trust me. I’ll be back with your cancelled indenture papers after the race.”
“Since that depends on Bartazan’s magnanimity, forgive me a degree of scepticism. Just race well; we can’t have a bunch of Paladrians beating a Garganet.”
Mirko smiled and stretched out his hand. Florian’s reference to him as a Garganet indicated — too subtly for anyone else to notice — that he had disregarded the matter of the court-martial which had stripped Mirko of his Garganet citizenship.
Florian leaned forward, wincing at the pain in his shoulder, and shook Mirko’s outstretched hand. “Fair winds, sea-friend.”
“Fair winds.”
Mirko smiled. “Goodbye, Panduletta. All being well, I’ll see you after the race.”
Panduletta gave him a quick embrace, with a perfunctory curtsy for Catzen. Catzen replied with what Florian would have called an ‘Electorbitch nod’ as she left the room.
CHAPTER 34
T
here were still several hours before the race; the streets were thronged with crowds in a carnival atmosphere, and the booths of the local traders — especially those selling hot food — were under siege. Mirko was well-known on the waterfront and managed to circumvent the queues, an approach with which Catzen did not appear entirely comfortable.
Mirko laughed as he handed her a portion of honey-glazed chestnuts in a snapple-fish shell. “You see nothing wrong in engaging in espionage, but you object to me jumping the queue to secure your luncheon?”
Catzen smiled as she swept a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. “I admit it does seem perverse. The espionage has a purpose in the world of high-statecraft, however misguided it may have been; but queue-jumping is just ill-mannered. As Florian so delicately said, I’m an Electorbitch by upbringing, and we take these things seriously.”
Mirko shook his head in perplexity. There was no fathoming the curious morality of the Electors, who thought nothing of locking a man in a private dungeon and forgetting him, but recoiled at the violation of lunchtime etiquette.
“What are you laughing at?” asked Catzen with a frown.
“I don’t know. You, Electors, I can’t say.”
“I don’t see that I’ve said anything risible.”
“Catzen, don’t be so prickly! We are close enough that I can laugh at you sometimes?”
She put one arm around his neck, carefully balancing the chestnuts with the other. “Of course; I’m just not used to it. I had forgotten what it felt like…”
Mirko ruffled her hair. “Watch out!” cried Catzen. “Don’t spill the chestnuts, not after you have abused etiquette so grossly to secure them.”
He turned at the sound of a footstep behind them. “A charming scene,” said a man with a chill smile and an arm in a sling: Vaidmantas.
Mirko’s hand dropped to his rapier-hilt; Vaidmantas raised his good arm in mock alarm. “The gallant Captain Ascalon would not skewer a disabled man, surely?” he said.
Catzen carefully set down the chestnuts on the wall with a deliberation that wrenched in some indefinable way at Mirko’s heart.
“Mirko will not kill you,” she said, “although Animaxian knows he ought to.”
Vaidmantas bowed. “My Lady Catzendralle, you have a harsh and bloody ethic. I wonder whether your new friend is acquainted with how you have deployed it in the past? The Captain is renowned for his high moral tone: I wonder what he would make of certain of your past escapades.”
“I know everything I need to about Catzendralle’s past,” said Mirko, “namely, what she has seen fit to tell me. Since I trust her, this is surely sufficient.”
Vaidmantas smiled. “My lady is no innocent, and you engage with her at your own risk. Still, since you were her agent, you must expect a degree of — ambivalence — in her make-up.”
“Say whatever you have to say, Vaidmantas,” said Catzen. “I am no longer in Giedrus’ employ, although I may have forgotten to tender my resignation formally. And of course, if Serendipity wins today, you will find yourself in a similar situation.”
Vaidmantas gave a glacial smile. “Maybe the lauda
num the apothecary has tendered for my shoulder has warped my judgement, but I am giving you a warning. The pair of you have done me a personal injury today. I am not a man to subordinate my long-term aims in pursuit of a petty vengeance; but one day, when the time is right, I will settle with the pair of you. If you don’t win today, I need only watch: Giedrus will have you both killed without a second thought; but if you do win — well, I will not be completely powerless then, either. Don’t expect Bartazan to protect you.”
Mirko’s returned smile was equally bleak. “I never expected any different, Vaidmantas.”
With an ironic bow, Vaidmantas took his leave. Catzen looked at Mirko with an unreadable expression. “That is not a good enemy to have,” she said. “He is a man who will be on the winning side no matter what. Our situation is by no means secure.”
“Then let’s just enjoy today,” he said, picking up the shell of chestnuts and handing them back to Catzen. “We should be getting to Urmaleškas.”
They made their way through increasingly crowded streets. Mirko was widely recognised. “Good on you, Ascalon!”, “I’ve three valut on you today!”, “Look out for Dragonchaser!”.
Mirko’s back was sore from the pounding of hands from well-wishers by the time he reached Urmaleškas. The gates opened at his approach, and Trajian ushered them inside.
“I’m glad to see you, Mirko,” he said. “There was a rumour the Peremptor had laid a warrant against you.”
“I believe he neglected that formality,” said Mirko with a wry smile, “although nonetheless he has been eager to remove me from the race; but as you see, I am here. Can you rustle up a couple of sets of Azure?”
“A couple?” asked Trajian with a questioning glance at Catzendralle. “You are not planning on taking your new lady friend as a passenger?”
“Of course not,” said Mirko with a pleasant smile; Trajian relaxed. “Her name is the Lady Catzendralle, of House Drall, and she is our helm today. As such she will need a uniform.”
“You are joking, of course.”
