But already people at the rail were crying out in confirmation. ‘A ship!’ they were calling. ‘It’s true!’
Incredulous, Dow battled his way past the junior officers to the Walk’s eastern end, and looked out. Some miles off, emerging from the Doldrums haze, was a black shape, three masts rearing high: a ship, advancing, though its spars were bare of sail, and no wind blew. Smaller shapes preceded it, three, no, four of them, low on the water, like strange sea creatures playing vanguard.
What apparition was this? Did the Dead inhabit the Barrier after all? And build ghostly ships? Wild fancies filled Dow’s head. But then he grasped what he was seeing. The smaller shapes were boats; attack boats; the ship was being towed by mechanical power. The vessel was no native of the Doldrums, it came from the north, from the Old World, just as the Chloe had.
At his side, Jake Tooth confirmed the fact. ‘It’s a Ship Kings vessel. A battleship. A big one.’
Another mad fancy struck Dow, that this must be a ship belonging to the long lost fleet of Nadal, Lord Designate and son of Ibanez the Third, who had set out to attempt a crossing of the Doldrums some ten years ago now, and vanished without trace. But no – that could not be the answer either. Even if any ships of that doomed fleet were still afloat, they could not have attack boats with them, for ten years ago no Ship King had known that attack boats even existed.
But if this was not Nadal, then who?
Fidel spoke in a strange tone of loathing. ‘Behold the banners it flies. They are designs I hoped never to spy again.’
Dow squinted at the long pennants hanging from the ship’s mainmast. It couldn’t be.
But it was.
‘The flag of Valdez,’ said Fidel, weary now. ‘It’s one of the same ships that saw us off when we began this voyage. One of Diego’s fleet.’
‘It’s Diego himself,’ said another voice.
Dow turned, and Nell was there, her desolate gaze fixed upon the approaching craft.
‘You can’t know that,’ he said.
‘But I do. It’s his flagship, and he’s on board.’
There was no doubt in her voice, only a final hopelessness, and Dow went cold. Somehow, she knew.
He turned back to the oncoming ship. But why? What in all the deeps could Diego be seeking here? The Chloe, and those on board? But he had already had them within his power, and had set them free.
More than that, how had he even found them here in the middle of all this wilderness? No ship had been following them these last weeks, of that Dow was certain. It would have been seen. So by what art?
He thrust the questions aside. Whatever Diego intended, however he had come here, he was their enemy. It was too late to flee; by the time Dow’s crew could deploy boats to tow the Chloe, Diego’s ship would be upon them. So instead they must give battle.
Except . . . with what?
They had no guns.
The horror of it struck Dow. The cannon were all lying on the ocean floor hundreds of miles behind them. The Chloe was defenceless. Even the rams of their attack boats had been thrown away. And as if to dash any last hope, a flicker ran along the sides of the approaching ship: gun ports opening, and dark barrels of iron rolling out. The foe was fully armed.
‘It’s Diego’s ship all right,’ Fidel commented bleakly. ‘I recognise it from our last encounter. The Pride of Valdez.’ He looked at Dow. ‘We still have gunpowder, and muskets and other small arms, in the magazines. We could load a boat with the powder, get in close to the enemy and set it off – it might be enough to make them keep their distance. Or failing that, with the small arms we might at least spill some of their blood as they board us.’
Dow was on the verge of saying yes, that they must fight, to the last man and the last grain of powder, no matter how vain it might be, even if they died in the attempt, anything rather than submit . . .
But then he caught Nell watching him, and saw the knowledge in her haggard stare, the fulfilment of what she had foretold – that he was indeed to lose command of the expedition, and not to Fidel or to Jake or to Boiler, or to Nell herself, or even to the likes of Magliore.
But to Diego.
‘No,’ he said, addressing all the officers now. ‘Leave the powder where it is, the small arms too. We won’t throw lives away in pointless defiance. We will give them no reason to fire upon us. Understood?’
No one disputed this, and so they all only watched in sombre quiet as the new ship drew closer. The four attack boats towing it were now plain to see; boats of Twin Islander design, captured at some point during the war, no doubt, and manned now by Ship Kings crews. And behind them came the great battleship, both of its broadsides deployed, fifty cannon apiece, and its rails lined with marines, their muskets aimed and ready.
Fidel let out a grunt of surprise. ‘Lo there – do you see? Diego has changed the name of his ship!’
It was true. The golden letters painted on the bow no longer spelled Pride of Valdez, but a different title, one Dow found curiously ominous.
New World.
‘And there he stands,’ muttered Fidel.
Amid the officers crowded about the ship’s wheel, one tall figure stood out. Diego. His face was unreadable at this distance, but no doubt it was suffused with satisfaction. He nodded to a junior officer, who hurried to the rail and called across the water, ‘You there on the Chloe, in the name of Prince Diego of the Diamond, run up the white flag, or prepare to take fire!’
At Dow’s shoulder, Jake hissed, ‘Just let me get a musket – one shot and I’ll take down their precious prince.’
Again, Dow caught Nell’s glance, she who had as much and even more reason than he to hate Diego, and to be just as sickened at the thought of submission to him, and saw in her sad eyes that no, even a single shot could not be allowed. He remembered then the other half of her prediction. That the two of them would be separated before this day was out.
And now he knew why.
‘No,’ he told Jake. And then – in what was possibly the last order he would ever give as captain – he added, ‘Just find a white flag.’
6. THE GREAT PROPHECY
And yet surrender was nothing like Dow had dreaded it would be. There was no horde of marines storming the ship, no arrests.
Instead, when the New World finally drew itself up beside the Chloe, it only halted there, some fifty yards off, and did nothing, despite its vast advantage. It was the larger vessel by far of the two, and far more grandly arrayed and equipped; indeed, even had the Chloe still been fully armed they would have found themselves outmatched. As it was, they were a child against an armoured knight. But no assault came. The cannon remained silent, and the marines at the rail only stared unmoving.
Strange. But even stranger, to Dow’s eye, was the New World’s condition. Up close, the ship was pristine. The Chloe in comparison bore every mark of the struggle it had undertaken to get this far, its hull scarred by the acid sea, its gun ports empty, its rigging – after the chaos of the Miasma – a tangled mess not yet put in order. But the New World was a shining vision, quite unsoiled by either algae or Miasma or any other trial.
How was that possible? How could it be that the Chloe had been so battered in reaching this point – but the New World had arrived here unscathed? The resplendent ship, its calm air of strength and authority – all of it stood in silent accusation to Dow as he stared. The reviled Diego had led his craft safely this far – whereas Dow, the famous mariner, had brought only ruin and suffering to his own vessel, and lost another ship entirely . . .
The wait stretched out. At length, however, activity stirred on the New World and a boat was lowered. It bore no marines, only rowers and a lone lieutenant, the same who had acted as messenger for Diego in their earlier encounters. Once within easy earshot, he called, ‘Dow Amber, Prince Diego requests that yourself and Ignella of the Cave attend him now on the New World. He asks me to assure you that his intentions are peaceful, and gives his word you will come to no harm while o
n board.’
There was, of course, no choice but to accept this invitation. So Dow only nodded to Fidel, handing over charge of the Chloe, and then, under the wordless gaze of the hundreds gathered on the main deck, he and Nell descended to the boarding ladders and climbed down to the waiting boat.
The lieutenant acknowledged them with a bow, and immediately ordered the rowers to their work. The boat slipped across the sea to the looming New World, drew alongside, and Dow and Nell made the long climb to the main deck. A senior officer was waiting. ‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘I am Captain Leopold of the Vine, commander of this vessel. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to His Highness.’
Dow gave a mute nod, and the captain led them away under the shade of the awnings – for, like the Chloe, the New World was rigged for the tropics, with great sheets of canvas hung between the masts. Likewise, ventilation fans had been set up over the hatchways, and the strict Ship Kings regulations regarding uniforms had been relaxed: most of the sailors on duty were shirtless, and the officers had abandoned their heavy coats and other regalia. Also – Dow noted – the vessel was clearly stocked for long journeying; the crates piled and lashed on the open decks told of overly full holds below.
Most striking of all, however, and proving that this was no ordinary Ship Kings vessel on any ordinary voyage, was the presence of women, a great number of them. They were not, seemingly, crew members, as to be found on the Chloe, but still, on both the main and high decks groups of women, young and old, were walking about and taking the afternoon airs. Many had children with them, who smiled at Dow and Nell with a ready interest.
Dow frowned in return. Women and children. It appeared that Diego’s crew had bought their families with them into the Doldrums. By why would they do that, at such risk, and against all Ship Kings tradition?
Unless . . .
And after all, the ship had been renamed the New World. Could it really be?
Was that what Diego was doing here?
The great stern castle loomed up, three storeys high, ornately carved and golden painted. Trailing their guide, Dow and Nell climbed a sweeping flight of stairs, and then another, to the topmost landing. They stared down a moment to the main deck below, extending off like a great shadowy hall under its roof of canvas, then they passed through a wide threshold that opened into a dark passageway. At its end waited a set of double doors.
Here two marines stood at guard, and one held up a staying hand. Captain Leopold said, ‘With apologies, but these men must search you for weapons before you may attend the prince.’
It was shortly done; Dow and Nell were not armed. Satisfied, the guards pulled back the great doors. Captain Leopold did not enter, but with a bow merely ushered the visitors onwards, and so alone Dow and Nell passed through into the New World’s Great Cabin.
It was a vast space. Indeed, not since his visit to the Twelfth Kingdom, long since burned, had Dow been so struck by the scale and luxury of Ship Kings architecture. The Chloe’s own Great Cabin was large, no doubt, but it was dwarfed by what Dow beheld now, a wide, long, highceilinged chamber bathed in light that came not only from the stern windows, but also from glass skylights in the roof, opening from the high deck above.
Illuminated in the slanting sunbeams were great tables of polished mahogany, and suites of leather couches, and even a grove of tall ferns growing in pots, as if in memory of the gardens and trees that had once adorned the lost capital ship. All around the walls, shaded from the light, gleamed the covers of books and charts set in dark shelves; here and there in glass cabinets, gold plate and crystal glinted dimly.
Waiting alone among all this finery – standing at the head of the main table – was Prince Diego.
A year had passed since Dow had last beheld his old enemy at close quarters, and his first impression was that the ascension to royalty had obviously agreed with him. In his youth, Diego had been lean and cruelly handsome, but the man Dow had fought on the Chloe’s high deck during the Battle of the Headlands had looked overburdened and weary, his face pasty pale, his thinning hair long and lank. But since that day Diego had lost weight once more, his skin had regained its tan, and his hair, now cropped short, had taken on a tone of steely grey.
But it was his eyes – always so quick to show temper and resentment – that were most changed. Diego’s gaze was tranquil as Dow and Nell came forward, and the smile he gave held no triumph, only cool irony. ‘So here we are again,’ he said. ‘We three.’
Dow and Nell only stared at him.
The prince shrugged, and nodded to the table. ‘Take a seat. I won’t pretend that this is any kind of friendly meeting between us, but as you’ve already been told, you need not fear any threat here on my account.’
Dow spoke finally. ‘Then why did you come at us with all your guns run out, and demand surrender?’
Diego eyed him mildly. ‘That was for the New World’s own protection as much as anything else – to be sure you did not attack us. But believe me, I have no interest in hindering you, or damaging the Chloe.’
Dow gave a snort – but was disarmed all the same, not only by Diego’s statement, but also by his composed manner, so at odds with the brashness Dow remembered. This was an older Diego, more formidable than his younger self. But Dow had not forgotten that this was also the man responsible for the death of his family, and loathing beat within him, as strong as ever.
‘What is your interest with us, then?’ asked Nell, her haunted eyes studying Diego alertly.
The prince considered her in apparent earnestness. ‘You look ill, Nell. Should I call my doctors?’
‘Answer me!’ she snapped. Then, in a strained and yet somehow intimate tone – one that reminded Dow sharply that she and the prince had been childhood friends – she added, ‘Diego, what in all the deeps are you doing here? Have you come to take us back to the Kingdoms as prisoners? Why didn’t you just do it before?’
Diego smiled again. ‘You needn’t worry, Nell. I haven’t come to take you back.’
‘Then what do you want?’
‘It’s simple. I want to accompany you on your voyage to the southern half of the globe. I want to help you find the New World.’
Nell stared in shock. ‘The New World?’
And Dow added, ‘Help us? You?’
The prince’s calm gaze was focussed only on Nell, as if Dow wasn’t in the room. ‘I know, it’s not what you expected. But sit, please, and I’ll explain.’ And once more he swept a hand towards the table.
Bewildered, Nell sank into a chair. ‘I don’t understand. You want to come with us? But why would you abandon Valdez, and even the prospect of the throne – for you are the crown prince – to come on such a desperate voyage as this? You were never an adventurer by nature.’
Diego laughed, seating himself at the table’s head. ‘Compared to you, no, I wasn’t! But here I am all the same. My father – were he alive – would be amazed. You’ll recall he thought I’d never make a sailor.’
Nell nodded slowly. ‘That I remember.’
Dow, taking a place beside her, felt almost forgotten in this reunion, an intruder upon a world he did not know. He was aware suddenly of how unkempt and unwashed he was in contrast to the opulence all around. Doubts swirled in him, but he said nothing.
‘Anyway,’ Diego began, still addressing Nell alone, ‘it all started a year ago, when I first heard of your plans to cross the Doldrums. If you made any attempt at secrecy, it failed. News of your intentions spread like a wildfire, once your people began to collect their families.’
‘We knew the risks in that,’ Dow answered. ‘But it was necessary.’
Diego merely went on. ‘When at first I heard, I thought – good riddance. If you wanted to die stranded in the Doldrums, Nell, it was no loss to me. But then I was . . . led, shall we say . . . to reconsider what you were attempting, and to see the worth in it. To discover a New World, to found a whole new civilisation – that’s no small thing! And with attack boats to do the t
owing, the crossing of the Barrier might actually be achieved. I thus began to contemplate the attempt myself, though I had no ship. But then lo – my cousin became king, and as crown prince I could commandeer any vessel I liked.’
Nell was frowning. ‘But that’s just it – I can’t believe you would give up a life of royalty, just to chance everything on a half hope. We are landless, fleeing war and death and despair. But what are you fleeing?’
‘Why – I flee the Old World, just as you do! Yes, perhaps I have left a throne behind, though as Enrique is hale and his wife already with child, that seemed unlikely. But what is even the Kingdom of Valdez, after all? It’s naught but one realm among many, and a realm left ragged and torn now by this fool of a war. Valdez cannot compare to an entire New World, Nell.’
‘Fool of a war? I can’t credit that you’ve suddenly become a member of the peace faction!’
‘No? Well, credit what you will. But the war is foolish indeed, and I have chosen hope, no matter how distant, of a New World, rather than to live in a gilded cage among the ruins of the Old.’
But suspicion had hardened in Nell’s eyes. ‘And should we indeed reach the southern seas, what do you intend to be your role in the New World?’
Diego blinked. ‘I shall rule there, of course.’
Amazed laughter burst from Dow. ‘Rule!’
Still Diego ignored him, only nodded earnestly to Nell. ‘Someone must rule, must they not? And it will be me. I shall found a new dynasty there; not merely a petty king, not even an impotent Sea Lord, but an emperor of a new realm, vaster than all the Four Isles combined.’
Dow barked another laugh. ‘Emperor, no less!’
‘You think me mad?’ asked the prince, but only of Nell. ‘It will happen, believe me, just as I tell it. For you’re right about this much – I would not give up my home for nothing, or for a mere chance of success. I did so in the certainty of it.’
The Ocean of the Dead: Ship Kings 4 Page 14
