The Ocean of the Dead: Ship Kings 4

by Andrew McGahan

  Dow was on deck with all his officers – he had slept a little after sunrise – and Nell too; she looked drawn, the flesh around her eyes dark almost as if bruised, but was otherwise recovered. They all watched, ready to call battle stations at any moment, as the Valdez ships drew level some few hundred yards off to the west. But the only activity was the launching of a boat from the flagship. It set out across the intervening gap, and Fidel ordered the easing of sail so that it could come alongside.

  Dow wondered with a cold fascination if Diego himself might be coming to bid he and Nell a last farewell – what a scene that would be! – but in fact the boat bore only the same young officer as before. This time, however, the herald was not content merely to shout his message over the waters; instead he requested permission to come aboard the Chloe.

  Dow granted it, and soon enough the young man – a lieutenant – stood before him on the high deck. He was carrying, Dow noted with interest, a small package, carefully wrapped in heavy paper.

  ‘His Highness Prince Diego sends you his final greetings,’ said the visitor, striving to sound detached but clearly somewhat overawed to be standing before the notorious pair Dow Amber and Ignella of the Cave. ‘He repeats that he bears you no ill will, and only wishes you gone from these waters before further trouble results – and warns that you must not return, for should you do so, he doubts even he would be able to prevent bloodshed.’

  Dow smiled placidly. ‘You can tell your prince that there would be bloodshed indeed, if we ever meet again in person. Whatever will he might bear, I have not forgotten his part in the murder of my family.’

  The young officer swallowed, but continued stoutly. ‘With you, Dow Amber, the prince truly expects no reconciliation, for you have only ever been enemies to each other. But His Highness and Ignella of the Cave are different: they were once friends and intimates. To her, he would like to offer an apology for his coldness to her of old, and for the part he played in her imprisonment and mistreatment. And in token of that, he offers this gift.’

  The messenger now held forth the package he bore.

  There followed an awkward silence. No one moved to accept the offering. Dow glanced to Nell, but she was only staring darkly at the visitor. ‘A gift?’ Dow asked finally, tone hard. ‘What kind of gift?’

  ‘I’d say it was likely a bomb,’ commented Fidel, ‘if it wasn’t so small. Maybe poison then. Best throw it in the sea.’

  The lieutenant looked alarmed. ‘It’s no bomb or poison, sirs, I saw myself as it was wrapped. ’Tis but a piece of jewellery. Prince Diego wishes it given to Ignella of the Cave because it once belonged to her mother.’

  Nell started. ‘My mother, and my father with her, were executed by the king of Othrace, and all their lands and belongings were confiscated. How did Diego come by anything of theirs?’

  The messenger was swift to reassure. ‘His Highness wants it known that he had no role in the fate of your parents. It was the affair of another kingdom. But when he came by chance upon this item for sale in a jeweller’s establishment, he recognised it, having often been a guest with your family in years past, and so secured it in honour of your old friendship.’

  He was still proffering the gift, but still Nell made no move to take it. It was Fidel who said, ‘Oh, give me the damn thing,’ then snatched it up and tore open the paper. This revealed a case of polished wood, and when that too was opened he drew forth a small golden object, oval-shaped, that was hung upon a fine chain. ‘Well,’ he said, holding it up. ‘It’s jewellery all right. A locket, and a cameo therein. One of very fine make, too.’

  He offered it to Nell. With evident reluctance she took it at last, and examined the thing as it lay in the palm of her hand. Her expression became stricken.

  Dow stared over her shoulder. The locket indeed contained a cameo, a small portrait set under glass upon what seemed to be polished whalebone, then framed in gold and decorated with diamonds. A valuable piece, unquestionably, but none of that mattered, Dow saw straightaway. What mattered was the portrait itself.

  It was Nell.

  But not Nell as he knew her. Rather, it was Nell as a girl of maybe twelve or thirteen, recognisably herself, but little more than a child still. And her skin – her skin was free of even a single scar or blemish.

  Dow experienced a strange dislocation of sight and memory. He was looking at Nell before she visited the Ribbon Cave, before the accident that set her on the path to where she stood now. A Nell he had never known and never would have known, had not fate intervened; a Nell who lived a high and noble life in a faraway enemy kingdom. A Nell entirely beyond him.

  He asked, ‘It was really your mother’s?’

  ‘It was,’ Nell replied faintly. ‘She wore it around her neck. After I became disfigured. When she knew that I was going to leave her forever and become a scapegoat. To remind her of the daughter she lost.’

  Dow could not understand the strange tone of aversion in her voice. He would have thought that such an object, something her mother had kept against her heart, must surely be precious. And yet Nell held the locket as unwillingly as she might a spider.

  ‘Don’t you want it?’ he asked.

  She shuddered. ‘No.’ Convulsively, she thrust it at Diego’s messenger. ‘Here, take it back to your prince.’

  The officer took a step away, shaking his head. ‘Forgive me, but that I cannot do. I was instructed that it must remain with you as intended.’

  Nell turned blankly and dropped the locket into Dow’s hand instead. ‘Fine – throw it into the sea then, like Fidel said.’

  Dow stared. ‘But why? You have nothing else of your mother’s, nothing else from your parents at all. Is it – is it because you don’t want to be reminded of what you were like . . . before you were injured?’

  ‘No. I don’t care about that – you know I don’t.’ She shook her head, gazing at the cameo in loathing. ‘I can’t explain. I just don’t want it near me. Maybe . . . maybe it’s because it comes from Diego. Even if he truly means it as a kindness, it makes no difference. I don’t want it.’

  Dow gazed at the picture, still strangely fascinated by the Nell who was not Nell. ‘It’s just a locket,’ he said. ‘It’s not a weapon. It can’t do you any harm. And it’s part of your life. I won’t just throw it overboard.’

  She shuddered again. ‘Keep it if you want, then. But I don’t want to see it again. Lock it away somewhere.’

  He studied her a moment and saw that she was in earnest. ‘All right,’ he nodded solemnly, pocketing the thing. ‘You won’t have to see it again. But in case you change your mind, you’ll know I’ll have it kept safe.’

  At which she only shook her head mutely.

  Dow turned to the messenger. ‘That’s it then? Your prince is content otherwise for us to merely sail away?’

  ‘He is,’ replied the lieutenant. ‘If he has your word that you will never return to Great Island waters.’

  ‘He need have no fear of that.’

  ‘Then on his behalf, I will bid you farewell, and take my leave.’

  And so he went.

  Wary yet of some last trickery or deceit, Dow stood at the western rail to watch the herald’s boat return to the Valdez flagship. Whatever assurances might have been given, still he could scarcely believe that Diego – with six ships to Dow’s two – would really let it end this way. But as soon as the messenger was back on board, signal flags ran up the mainmast of the flagship, and then all six Ship Kings craft turned as one, and set a course north.

  The Chloe and the Snout sailed on southwards, and even as the two fleets drew apart, Dow studied the flagship intently, searching maybe for some last sign or explanation. It was a great vessel of the old style, and named the Pride of Valdez – a title that in fact the Chloe itself had once borne when under Diego’s command. On the high deck, uniformed men were gathered about the wheel – but one figure stood apart at the stern rail, and this time Dow was sure that it was indeed Diego.

&nbs
p; A perverse impulse struck Dow that he should raise a hand in mock farewell to his enemy. But his emotions were too confused – did he in fact now owe Diego a debt, for having released his fleet unharmed? In the end he gave no sign of any kind, and nor did the figure on the receding ship. The distance of water between them grew wider, then wider still . . .

  Nell was at Dow’s side without his realising. ‘I don’t understand it,’ she said, her gaze set on the dwindling figure. ‘He does not watch us like a man bidding us goodbye, or who is glad to be rid of unwanted company. He watches us with hunger still, as if he would like nothing more than to pursue us.’

  ‘Then why doesn’t he?’

  ‘That I can’t answer. And yet—’

  She broke off, for Diego had turned away abruptly, as if called. And as he turned, the collection of uniformed men about the wheel shifted and parted, revealing in their midst a dark, hunched shape – and Dow felt an inexplicable freezing in his heart.

  He clutched at Nell’s arm. ‘Look!’

  But just then one of the other Valdez ships passed briefly across the flagship’s stern, blocking the scene, and when the view was clear again, Diego and the dark shadow had vanished from the high deck.

  ‘What was that, do you think?’ Dow asked.

  But Nell, wide-eyed, could only shake her head.

  *

  Nightfall found the Chloe and the Snout alone upon the sea. Diego and his fleet had vanished over the horizon, just as sworn.

  Even so, Dow took nothing as granted. Diego would be expecting him to continue south – therefore, as soon as night fell, he gave new orders: both ships were to douse all lights and turn dead east for a time.

  It was out of their way, and maybe an unnecessary precaution, but it would foil any secret pursuit Diego might be planning to make. Dow would only need to hold east a day or so, and then could resume his proper course – for once Diego was thoroughly shaken off, there was no way that in all the wide oceans of the world he was likely to stumble upon them again.

  So east they sailed. Once more, Dow stayed up late into the night, watching the horizons for any hint of pursuit. But all was darkness and emptiness, and an hour after midnight he left off, handing the wheel over to the commander on watch. Her name was Prudence Weather, and she was a Twin Islands veteran who had joined the fleet during the theft of the whale oil in Port Green. He also gave a nod to the junior officer assisting her, none other than young Nicky Ostman, long Dow’s friend and companion, who was now seventeen years old and a newly commissioned lieutenant.

  Below, Dow went to his cabin to find Nell sleeping, untroubled by any fit or nightmare. He undressed, and in doing so came upon the cameo, still in his pocket. He studied it for a time in the lamplight, the face so familiar and yet so hauntingly different. And here was the strange thing: Dow had always believed that despite his apparent hostility towards her through those last years, Diego in fact had all the while longed for Nell as fervently as he had when they were children together, and pledged to be married. She had rejected him, yes, and he had behaved vilely to her in return – but love scorned could be like that. And Dow was convinced that Diego loved Nell still. Or at least still desired to possess her.

  And yet now, having come into ownership of an image of her as she had been when they were closest, he was prepared to part with it, never to see it again. It was an enigma. Unless Diego really had changed, unless he truly was prepared to give her up at last.

  Dow yawned. Either way, he was unlikely to solve the puzzle tonight. He stashed the locket down at the bottom of his sea chest, hidden but available should it ever be called for, and then put it from his mind.

  In bed, Nell was smiling in her sleep. And that was a good omen at least, Dow thought, climbing in beside her.

  *

  Topside, Nicky Ostman patrolled the decks back and forth, and scarcely noticed the cold, so warmed was he by his own happiness.

  In part this was because they had begun at last. No one else seemed to have remarked upon it yet – the senior officers and Dow and Nell all remained grim and wary – but Nicky was keenly aware that this was it, the commencement of the great adventure. And he had no doubt that they would succeed. Not without difficulty, of course. The Doldrums were rightly to be feared. But ever since Dow had taken command, and declared his bold intent, Nicky had felt sure that it was right. They would pass through the Barrier, and they would find the New World, and a new life for them all in peace.

  But mostly the warmth glowed within him for a simpler reason. He was in love! Well, in truth he had been in love for some time now, with May Sawyer, whom he had first met while serving on the Snout – he second-in-command of the attack boat Sponge, she its helmswoman. Oh, he hadn’t fallen for her straightaway. Indeed, it was not until they had shared the long walk across New Island, in company with Dow, to discover the terrible news of his family, that Nicky came to really notice and admire her. But after that, and after they fought and survived together the great Battle of the Headlands, his heart became set. The question was, did she feel the same?

  For nine months and more he had waited and said nothing, his usual sturdy self-confidence completely deserting him. But just a week ago he had spoken at last, and May had answered, What took you so long? – and this very evening, when he had reported for duty at midnight, he had left her sleeping, for the first time, in the bunk of his tiny cabin. So he patrolled the decks now in a hazily buoyant mood, never minding the cold or the late hour, and in truth, hardly noticing anything or anyone around him.

  Until, that was, the fourth bell after midnight. As the chimes sounded, and as he was descending from the foredeck, he caught – or thought he did – a flash of light from far across the sea behind them, northwards.

  He went to the rail and leaned out, staring back past the stern into the darkness. Was something out there? It might have been just a star, twinkling sharply a moment. But no, it had been lower down than the stars, upon the water itself, somewhat short of the horizon . . .

  He stared and waited, but the light, if it had been real at all, did not show itself again. There was no cry from the high deck, or from the men aloft, or the lookout in the crow’s nest, all of whom had a far better view north. He must have been mistaken, that was all.

  Nicky resumed his patrol. From time to time he darted his gaze north, as if to catch the light again by surprise, but all through the dying night he saw nothing. And when dawn came, the horizons were clear and the Chloe and the Snout remained alone upon the sea.

  2. SOUTHWARD BOUND

  The expedition was now properly launched, and not even in the Great Age of Exploration had a fleet ever set forth on so audacious and yet desperate a voyage. Nor with such an unlikely mix of a crew: not only the usual sailors and gunners and galley-hands, but bricklayers and brewers and farmers also, and seamstresses and shoemakers and a dozen other professions besides, men and women, old and young, boys and girls – and lastly, tangling about under everyone’s feet, some sixty or so infants, with more yet on the way, for twenty women on board were due to give birth within the next month alone.

  And all these souls – seven hundred and fifty on the Chloe, five hundred and fifty on the Snout – were packed into vessels that were already jammed to the gunnels with all manner of stores and supplies. Not only was there food and water enough to see thirteen hundred people through a long voyage, but also the tools and seed and livestock that they would need to carve a new civilisation out of nothing in the unsettled lands beyond – should those lands exist. And that wasn’t including the attack boats upon which the whole scheme depended, and the barrels upon barrels of whale oil to fuel them.

  In sum, the expedition formed a nation within itself, an entire country afloat and in want only of dry land to call home. One feature alone of the Old World civilisation was missing. There were no marines in Dow’s fleet, no permanent soldiery, no uniformed men on duty to maintain order.

  Dow didn’t believe in the idea. They were all t
ogether in this, surely, the thirteen hundred of them – committed to finding a New World and peace. And in that peace, why would anyone need an army?

  *

  Two days after leaving Diego behind, and with no sign of any pursuit, Dow heaved his fleet to, and called a meeting upon the Chloe. He invited not only the officers of his two ships, but also various influential figures from among the communities that made up the crew. In all, some seventy men and women collected in the Chloe’s Great Cabin, the officers arranged at the central table, the other attendees spread in a wider circle of chairs.

  Once all were settled and the conversation silenced, Dow – seated at the table’s head, with Nell at his right hand and Fidel at his left – rose to speak. ‘Very well,’ he said into the expectant quiet, ‘it’s time we began. Our aim is to cross the Barrier Doldrums to the southern half of the world. How are we to do this, when all before us have failed, stranded where no winds blow, and where the waters grow stagnant and clinging? Simple – when we sail beyond the wind, we will launch the attack boats, and tow our ships through.’

  More silence met this, for of course it was known to everyone already. And the grim expressions on the faces around the room made it clear that everyone also knew it would be anything but simple.

  Dow gave a nod of acknowledgement. ‘The truth is that even with the advantage of mechanical power, we still face deadly challenges and uncertainties. For a start, we can’t merely tow our ships the whole way across. Our supply of whale oil isn’t limitless, and the Doldrums are wide. But how wide exactly? And how far exactly can we tow the ships? And also, where exactly should we try to make the crossing? There are other questions aside, but we’ll begin with those. And I’ll call on Fidel now, who has some of the answers.’