Of course, it had never been intended that Henrietta would occupy the throne in her own name. Along with her young husband, Emmanuel, she had been installed only as a puppet, after the death of Ibanez the Third, by the true powers of the day, the Kings Carrasco and Ferdinand. However, with her husband dead in the Battle of the Headlands, and both Carrasco and Ferdinand too, Henrietta had declared herself regent on behalf of her newborn child, a son she had named Ibanez the Fourth, while styling herself as the Dowager Sea Lady. And against all custom, her Ship Kings subjects, weary of internal dispute, had accepted her with unexpected loyalty.
All of which would have been of little interest to Dow, except that one of Henrietta’s first edicts had stated that should any of her ships happen upon Dow Amber and his renegade fleet, then he was to be fired upon forthwith. Indeed, Dow was a man condemned by both sides, for Constance Reed had likewise passed sentence of death upon him. Dow even understood their reasoning, perverse though it was. For amid the suffering of their endless war, how could either Sea Lady or War Mistress permit a mission in search of a New World, and of freedom from war, to succeed? Or even rumour of it to spread throughout their realms? No, all such hopes must be crushed.
Ah, but those were the twisted ways of the Old World. Soon enough, they would be left behind. For after all, Dow suddenly realised, he was done with them now. With this last pick-up accomplished, the long task of preparation was complete. A year since he had assumed the captaincy, and declared the great challenge, he could turn finally to commence it.
He put both women from his mind, and gazed ahead with a growing eagerness as the Chloe slipped towards the dawn, the Snout following like a shadow. On their left and right the two ships were still hemmed in by the widening arms of the bay, but not only a mile or two ahead lay the open ocean, wreathed in a morning mist that was tinged pink.
‘So at last it is begun,’ observed Fidel in mirror to Dow’s thoughts. ‘The final delay is behind us, and the Barrier Doldrums await. And yet it almost seems like madness, now that we come to it.’
‘Madness?’ enquired Nell. The sombreness in her had departed as it had from Dow, and now she considered the old scholar with an arch smile. ‘You are struck with doubts? Here, at this final hour?’
Fidel returned the smile wryly. ‘Who would not have doubts? To take so many, so far, based only on a hope – it may be foolhardiness unequalled. Why, even if we win through the Barrier, we don’t know for certain if land awaits us on the other side. Yes, we have some reason to believe it. The Ice Albatross for one: many times such creatures have been sighted by mariners, myself and you and Dow among them, yet there is no land in the northern world upon which they alight, as all birds must. And also, certain geological signs suggest a southern land, as we have discussed in our route-making. And yet . . .’
‘There will be land,’ Nell avowed, certainty glinting in her dark eyes. ‘What I wonder more is this – will such land be uninhabited, or will it be occupied by others? Is there human life already in the southern world? Are there cities and kingdoms awaiting us, do you think?’
Dow said, ‘Surely we would know if that was so.’
‘Why?’ asked Fidel. ‘How would such peoples contact us? Unless they too have invented mechanical engines, it would be as impossible for them to sail north as it has always been impossible for us to sail south. With the Barrier between, entire civilisations could exist in ignorance of each other for thousands of years.’ The old commander’s stern tone softened. ‘And yet, in my heart, I doubt it. The origins of humanity may be lost in the mists of time, but I can’t credit that mankind arose independently in two different hemispheres. We must have begun in one hemisphere or the other. And as our primitive ancestors are even less likely to have crossed the Doldrums, I must therefore believe that our species arose here in the northern world, and that the southern world, whatever else may exist there, will be innocent of man.’
Dow was nodding. He had no scientific knowledge or theories of his own to back him up; nevertheless, he felt in his bones that Fidel was right. If only because, whenever Dow closed his eyes and thought ahead to the other side of the Doldrums, an image came to him – as clear as a memory of something he had seen firsthand – of a wide, windswept stretch of shore, and of green land rising, and of distant mountains beyond, tilted up whitely, and all of it empty, empty, waiting to be filled. A dream only, maybe. But a dream of truth.
Surely it was the truth?
‘Sails!’ came a cry. ‘Sails dead ahead!’
Dow broke from his reverie and looked in shock to the east. The fog had flamed a rose gold, shreds lifting away in the breeze, the sun risen. And unveiled there now, hove-to across the mouth of the bay, were ships – two, three, no, four of them. Battleships. Ship Kings battleships.
A trap!
A younger Dow might have frozen in dismay, cursing fate for another of its cruel tricks – after all these months of stealth, with not an enemy ship encountered in battle, and not a drop of blood spilled, luck had chosen now to betray him, to lead him unseeing to the snare.
But this was an older Dow, one who had accepted the calm of command, forgoing mere private fears, and he thrust the flash of panic aside. They had trained for this, he reminded himself. They were ready.
‘Battle stations,’ was all he said.
Lieutenants dashed away, and Fidel cried orders aloft. From below came the rumble of the guns being run out, and from the main deck the bustle of the attack boats being hoisted for deployment. A quick glance to the Snout revealed that Jake Tooth – its captain, with Boiler Swan as his second-in-command – was just as prepared, a rush of black iron emerging from its gun ports.
Fidel meanwhile was now studying the foe through the telescope. ‘They’re flying Estland banners. A battleship, three frigates, at action stations all.’ He lowering the glass. ‘Do we run or fight?’
‘Both,’ Dow decided. ‘We have the wind; we’ll run through their line and take whatever they throw at us. It’ll be bad, but once we’re through we can launch our attack boats to delay them while we escape east.’
Fidel nodded. ‘It’s a shame to have to spend the oil. We’ll need every drop of it later. But it’s all moot if we don’t get out of here first.’
Nell gave Dow a look. ‘We’ll win through. But there’ll be casualties, so I’ll be in sick bay if you—’
She was cut off by a hoarse cry. ‘More sails! Sails to the north! Six ships, coming hard!’
Everyone swung their gazes north. There, plain to see, was a horrid prospect; six more Ship Kings vessels were advancing on the field, their approach hidden until now by the last shreds of mist.
Dow’s high spirits plummeted. Two ships against four were odds he had been prepared to risk in a short, sharp encounter, with attack boats at his disposal. But two against ten? That would be suicide.
And yet, they had to fight. Surrender meant at best capture and imprisonment, if not death. And that could not be allowed. Not now, not when they were on the verge of beginning the great task.
‘Signal the Snout,’ he ordered, swallowing his doubts. ‘Tell them we’ll run the enemy line regardless, and then launch all boats. The Chloe will go first and draw as much fire as we can, the Snout sheltering in our lee. With luck, we might still get out of this with one seaworthy ship.’
The signalman strode to the rail with his flags. Fidel raised the telescope once more. ‘They’re Valdez ships,’ he said, studying the new arrivals with a calm fatalism. ‘Two battleships, four frigates.’
Valdez ships. It was the final insult, that Dow’s ruin should be brought about by a fleet from the kingdom that he hated most out of all the eleven kingdoms, if for no other reason than that it was the homeland of one Diego of the Diamond. Well, at least he could take some of them with him. The range was closing now, the first shots must soon be fired . . .
But Fidel was squinting in puzzlement. ‘Hold a moment. See there – the Valdez flagship makes a sign to the others.’
Dow stared. The leading vessel of the Valdez fleet was raising urgent flags on its mainmast, presumably to be read by the Estland ships – one red banner, one black banner: a universal signal with only one meaning. Hold your fire. Cease combat. Disengage. Disengage.
What?
Dow turned to the Estland ships. He could imagine the shock of their captains, denied their prize just as the battle was about to commence, and in their favour. But even though these were Estland waters, it was a fact that the entire east coast of Great Island was dominated by Valdez. And as evidence of that, as the Chloe and the Snout came within range of the Estland guns, and square in their sights, not a one opened fire.
‘Do we hold fire too?’ Fidel wondered.
Dow was gazing longingly towards the open sea. Whatever the Ship Kings were up to, still his fleet must take this chance to flee, surely. And yet, if he ran, would he not only precipitate destruction? He sighed. ‘Hold fire. And heave to – at least until we see what they intend.’
The Valdez fleet had come up to join with the Estland fleet now, the ten ships forming an all-but-solid blockade across the mouth of the bay. There seemed to be much shouting across the water between the various high decks, the Estland commanders perhaps enquiring – in some fury, no doubt – as to what exactly the Valdez fleet thought it was doing.
Dow could only watch on, mystified. But at length, the Valdez flagship lowered a boat, and the craft set out for the Chloe, oars dipping in rhythm. From its bow flew a white pennant of parley.
Fidel laughed. ‘So instead of sinking us they want to have a friendly discussion! About what?’
The boat drew to within hailing distance. A young officer rose to stand in the bow, and called across the water. ‘Do I address one Dow Amber, captain of these two vessels? And with him, Ignella of the Cave?’
Dow exchanged a wondering glance with Nell – but could think of no purpose in concealment. ‘You do!’ he called.
‘Excellent. I bear a message to you both from my lord, His Highness Crown Prince Diego of the Diamond, heir to the throne of Valdez.’
Crown Prince Diego? Dow glanced again to Nell, whose eyes had gone wide in equal surprise, then shouted back to the messenger. ‘Since when is Diego any kind of prince, or heir to any throne?’
The herald did not seem put out by the question. ‘Since the death of his cousin Carlos, the former king, some two months past, and the ascension of his last remaining cousin Enrique to the Valdez throne.’
Dow consulted Nell quietly. ‘Can that be right? I knew Diego was related to the royal line . . . but not as closely as that.’
She shook her head slowly, as if pondering her former life, when she had moved amid the Ship Kings nobility. ‘He wasn’t all that close, not when we knew him. Yes, he was nephew to King Carrasco, but Carrasco had two sons of his own as direct heirs, and there was also another nephew older than Diego, his cousin Enrique – so Diego was at best the fourth in line. And yet think: Carrasco’s older son was Emmanuel, who died at the Headlands, as did Carrasco himself. That left the younger son Carlos as king, but he was always sickly. If he has died since, then the Valdez throne indeed passes to the senior male remaining of Carrasco’s line, and that’s Enrique – and as the only surviving male relative of Enrique, that leaves Diego as crown prince.’
‘Oceans preserve us,’ muttered Fidel.
It was a thought to make Dow’s skin crawl – Diego a crown prince! His conceit must have become monumental. Worse than that, he had the authority now, and the ships, to hold them all prisoner.
The herald was awaiting a response. ‘Very well,’ Dow called, ‘what’s your prince’s message?’
‘It is this,’ said the officer. ‘He commands that you be gone from these waters and never return.’
Dow almost gaped in his disbelief. He was being told to go away? It was the last thing he had expected. But he kept his voice level. ‘That’s what we were trying to do when your countrymen from Estland appeared!’
‘A mistake! We have explained to them who really commands in these waters. Prince Diego wants no lives lost in attempts to prevent your departure. It has come to his attention that you seek the Doldrums – and it is his pleasure and command that the two of you be allowed to do exactly that!’
‘His pleasure?’ Dow retorted. ‘To let us go?’
The herald smiled coldly over the water. ‘Prince Diego warned that you would express such distrust. Your past encounters have not been friendly ones. But the cost of all this endless contention has become clearer to him of late. He no longer wishes for your death in battle. But nor can you remain in these waters. So he would do all that he can to speed you on your way. He thinks only doom will come of your attempt to cross the uncrossable Barrier. But if that is what you want, then so be it.’
Dow chewed a lip, musing. It sounded almost plausible – if the message had come from anyone else. But that Diego would let them go free when they were in his grasp, when he could have them to gloat over in person . . . it was hard to accept. He turned to Nell in indecision.
She tilted her head. ‘He has seen much death and known much loss in this war. That can change people. And maybe becoming a prince – and being able to exercise true authority – has matured him . . .’
But Dow was remembering his last meeting with his old enemy, on this same high deck, bloodstained then, and corpse-littered, at the end of the Battle of the Headlands. That Diego had not been a person who would ever let Dow and Nell slip from his fingers. Enraged and bitter and about to leap into the sea, he had sworn only that he would return and be avenged.
Dow straightened at last and addressed the herald once more. ‘How can it be that Diego is prepared to let us go on our way? Hasn’t the Dowager Sea Lady herself passed sentence of death upon us?’
The herald shrugged. ‘The Dowager may pass what laws she will. But she is not present here and now.’
‘But Diego is? Here and now?’
The officer hesitated a moment with a glance to the Ship Kings vessels. Then, ‘He is here indeed. His eyes are upon you.’
Dow gazed likewise, singling out the Valdez flagship. At this distance none of the officers on its high deck – all of them staring back at the Chloe – were identifiable. But presumably one of them was his old foe. Dow frowned. Could Diego really be content to release them, even if he thought their attempt on the Doldrums would fail? And not only content, but prepared to intervene against fellow Ship Kings to ensure Dow and Nell’s escape? And in defiance of the Dowager Sea Lady?
The evidence was there, seemingly, before Dow’s eyes, in the black and red cease fire banners, and in the battleships waiting in silence.
He looked at Nell and said lowly, ‘You don’t know anything about this, do you? This isn’t what you’ve . . . seen . . . ?’
Her face tightened momentarily. Dow was breaking a strict and private rule between them in even asking such a question. And Fidel, off to the side, lifted an eyebrow in interested surmise at the remark.
But all Nell said was, ‘No.’
Dow gave in, called to the herald, ‘How are we to proceed?’
The officer bowed briefly. ‘The Estland ships shall withdraw, so that you might sail east freely, and the Valdez fleet will then fall in behind you, to escort you beyond sight of land and beyond our territory. It will be an escort only, I assure you. The prince has no hostile intent – but he must be sure too that you have properly gone.’
Dow consulted his companions with a last glance, but Fidel merely shrugged, and Nell remained tight-lipped and silent.
‘Very well then!’ Dow called. ‘Tell your prince we’ll do as he asks.’
The herald gave another bow and turned away.
And watching him go, Dow added to Fidel, ‘But we’ll not cancel battle stations, nor run our cannon in. That trusting I’m not prepared to be. If there’s treachery afoot, I want to be ready.’
*
Yet it seemed that such caution was unnecessary.
/>
The Estland vessels obediently drew aside, allowing Dow’s ships to pass through, and for the rest of that day the Valdez fleet did exactly as it had promised, merely shadowing the Chloe and the Snout from several miles astern as Dow sailed first east, and then southeast.
The only notable event throughout was a change in the weather. The morning had started out typically warm for late spring, once the damp of the fog had blown away – it was only a week short of the first day of summer. But early in the afternoon a front swept down from the north, heralded by a high band of cloud through which the sun shone in blurred rings. An unseasonal north wind began to gust coldly, and in the wake of the cloud band the sky turned a deep, crisp blue. A winter firmament.
But the ships sailed on, and sunset found both fleets still well apart and peaceable, with the Estland coast no more now than a dwindling shadow against the orange of the horizon. Another day of such sailing should have Dow’s ships clear of Great Island waters entirely.
It was all very strange.
In the chill gloaming a boat set out from the Snout, bearing Jake Tooth and Boiler Swan on a visit to the Chloe. They met with Dow, Nell and Fidel on the high deck, everyone wrapped in their winter coats.
‘What are we to make of this morning’s events?’ asked Fidel, his gaze turned to the Ship Kings vessels following behind, now only darker points on the grey ocean. ‘I remember my time serving under Diego too well to expect honourable conduct from him. I assumed his promise a ruse at best, to disarm us. And yet . . . so far he keeps his word.’
Jake Tooth glowered in scepticism. ‘It must be a ruse. If Diego lets us go he’ll be branded a traitor. The Estland ships witnessed what he did. He can’t hide it, or deny the fact that he ignored the Dowager’s orders. He may be a prince now, but he’s only a prince, and can still be punished. Why would he risk that for our sake?’
‘It makes little sense,’ agreed Fidel. ‘But regardless, I think it’s time that we stood the crews down from battle stations. They’ve been on alert all day, they can’t stand-to all through the night as well.’
The Ocean of the Dead: Ship Kings 4 Page 2
