The Trophy Chase Saga

by George Bryan Polivka

Packer opened his hands, not to embrace her, but to explain. To plead. Just come to Him and see, he thought. But she cringed, stepping back as though he were attacking, as though she feared him.

  And she did fear. She feared the light she saw in him once again, the compassion, those hands open, arms spread wide to engulf her, to destroy her. But she caught herself, hardened herself against the attack. She straightened up, held her chin high. Talon faced him down, absorbing power, absorbing, if she could, his essence, even as she rejected his words. “We sail into the source of all power, Packer Throme. The power to control the world lies with the Firefish, and they live among the Achawuk. When we arrive, we shall learn about power.”

  “Power given from above is the only true power,” he told her.

  “Then show me that this is so, Packer Throme. Command the Firefish.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Fire

  “Your pardon, Highness.” Millie Milder, kind and elderly, now served Panna as something near to a personal valet. Not that Panna had much choice in the matter, unless she wanted to fire her, or lock all doors behind her. Millie would be hovering, doting, fretting, to make sure everything was just so for the young queen. “You have a visitor.”

  The queen looked up from the stack of papers on her desk. She was constantly amazed at the sheer number of documents that flowed through the palace, demanding her attention. But when she looked up at Millie, she saw an odd expression, partly deep concern, but partly mirth.

  “Does the visitor have a name?”

  “Miss Marlie Blotch,” she said, and stepped aside as the girl stepped in.

  Panna knew her. Marlie was a hard worker, and shy. She worked in the hospital, serving the sick and injured. “What is it, Marlie?”

  The girl trembled like a willow in the wind.

  “You can come here,” Panna said easily.

  Marlie walked closer, then held up a small, folded scrap of parchment. The seal was broken.

  “Is that for me?”

  She shook her head. “No, ma’am. I mean yes, it is now. I mean, it was for the high holy man.”

  “The High Holy Reverend Father. Where did you get it?”

  “A priest. Told me I should put it in his porridge.”

  Panna paused, as the implications of this statement rolled through her mind. “And did you?”

  She lowered her chin until it almost touched her chest. She whispered, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Panna again paused, but did not ask for the note. It wasn’t addressed to her. “And why are you bringing it to me?”

  The girl still held the parchment in the palm of her hand, and now she opened her hand wide and stretched out her arm, as though it were dangerous and she wanted it far from her. “It’s against you.”

  “Against me? In what way?”

  “To hurt you.”

  Panna nodded. “I’m going to take this and read it, even though it isn’t addressed to me. I’m doing that because you are telling me it may have information about a plot against this government. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Panna took the note, unfolded it, and read it silently. “Do you know the name of the priest who gave this to you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Who else knows about this?”

  “No one.” She swallowed hard, her eyes wide. Panna waited for the truth. Marlie did not disappoint. “Well. Me. And the priest. And the High Holy…him. And now you.”

  “And who else?”

  She paused. “My mother.”

  “And did your mother send you here with this?”

  “Yes.”

  “She did the right thing.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Am I in bad trouble? He told me I would be safe.”

  “Safe? In what way?”

  Her chin trembled. “He said the Church would protect me. I could run to the chapel and kneel at the altar, and no bad thing would happen. I don’t want to go to prison.” And with that she broke into sobs.

  Panna let her cry for a moment, until Marlie looked back at her, and saw the patience, the concern in her queen. “In this kingdom, there is always sanctuary at the altar of the seminary chapel. But that is for criminals. And you are not a criminal, are you?” Marlie shook her head, eyes pleading. “And you never should have agreed to take a note to a man under arrest. You do see that now, don’t you?”

  The girl nodded.

  “And are you sure that Father Stanson, the High Holy Reverend Father, read this note?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He made the sign it says in there, putting his fork across his spoon.”

  “All right.” Panna folded the note. “You will not go to prison, because you told me this. So long as you do good from now on.”

  “I’ll do whatever you say!”

  “What I say, Marlie, is that you must learn to do the right thing, always, no matter what anyone says. But here’s what I want you to do right now. I want you to stay here for a little while. I’m going to bring in the Sheriff of Mann to talk to you.”

  Marlie’s eyes went wide.

  “I only want you to tell him what you told me. He’ll ask you other questions. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She had something else on her mind. “Your Highness?”

  “Yes?”

  “My mother wanted me to ask…is there some reward?”

  “For bringing me this note?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, there is not. Tell your mother that the reward is that you will keep your job, and not go to prison.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m ordered to my bunk for the night,” Delaney said, pausing at the hatch.

  Father Mooring nodded. The priest had seen the sailor’s outburst against Talon, and wanted to talk. “You have a hard time seeing God at work in her, I know.”

  Delaney dismissed that thought with a wave of his hand. “God ain’t at work in that one, sorry to inform ye.”

  The priest looked thoughtful. He had been soaking up the peacefulness of the evening, when Delaney’s shouting had roused him from his meditations. “Stumbling blocks, trials, temptations, and suffering,” he said gently, ticking the words off with his fingers. “Those are the four plights. We are promised in Scripture that we must endure them all until our Lord returns.”

  Delaney tugged on his tattered earlobe. “Bit of a meager table, if ye ask me.”

  “Talon represents three of the four plights. But that means God will also bring to us at least three of the four promises.” He waited for the other man to respond.

  Delaney did not disappoint him. “What are the promises?”

  “Wisdom, endurance, deliverance, and peace. The promises match the plights.”

  “Yeah. Well. I’d like to promise her a few plights. Good evenin’ to ye.”

  Delaney started down the hatch, but Father Mooring had more to say. “We who know the truth must suffer in order to show God’s grace to those who do not.”

  Delaney stopped and pondered that. “I heard somewhat like that before.”

  “Your anger can never show Talon the way.”

  Delaney’s face went dark. “It can show her the way somewheres.”

  “And yet, dear brother, she, too, is created in the image of God. She, too, may yet be redeemed. You cannot know God’s plan for her.”

  “Mebbe not. But I got this tidbit a’ news for ye. If God plans for the likes a’ her to waltz into heaven, after doin’ what she’s done on this earth, then He ought be up there makin’ a different plan.”

  “The evil in your heart is no less dark, friend.”

  This stunned Delaney. “She’s a murderin’, lyin’, cheatin’ deceiver! I hardly ever lie and I don’t cheat no more at all, and I only ever murdered once! That’s it! And then repented of it.”

  “At heart, Delaney, I am a murdering, lying, cheating deceiver, too,” the priest said.

  Delaney looked at the priest like he’d gone mad. “You? Nahhh.”

  “Yes,
and so is Packer. And so is Panna. And so are you. To stand against God in even the smallest way is…” and here he struggled with a phrase that might reach Delaney, “it’s like dipping His whole creation in a bucket of tar and kicking it down a hill.” Judging by Delaney’s reaction, Father Mooring felt he had been successful. “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.’ ”

  Delaney shrugged, and descended the stairway without saying good night. He was feeling off balance, and he had to get away and think a bit. Was he standing against God somehow? Sure, he’d like to dip Talon in tar and kick her downhill. Who wouldn’t? How could a righteous God who could judge the whole world not want someone to take her out of it, for good and all? “Created in the image of God,” was she? Maybe, a long time ago. But she’d skewed that around so bad it couldn’t ever be made right. Could it?

  He climbed into his bunk and lay awake again, thinking again of Talon, and of Firefish, and of Achawuk. And buckets of tar, and God. He began to pray, and almost immediately his muscles seemed to turn to lead, and his mind pulled him down into the darkness.

  He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Talon and Packer stood together at the prow of the ship, Father Mooring their only companion. But God did not grant that anyone would command the Firefish tonight. The beast was seen no more, not that night, nor the next day, nor all the way to the land of the Achawuk.

  For the next several days running, Usher Fell returned to the same doorstep and knocked. Each day he got no answer, and each day he grew more concerned. Then finally, on the fourth day a woman of thirty-five or so, haggard and wan, answered his knock. “Marlie ain’t here. She’s workin’.” Her demeanor was antagonistic.

  “Did she leave a message for me?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you. I’ll come back later.”

  “Don’t,” the woman said gruffly. “She ain’t doin’ no more of your sneak work.”

  Now he grew quite alarmed. “My dear woman! I would hardly characterize—”

  “Well, I don’t care what you would hardly do. Askin’ my little girl to break the law is sneak work, and she’s the one who’ll go to prison for it.”

  “I understand your concern for your daughter—”

  “Good.” And she slammed the door.

  Usher Fell stared at the door, then knocked again. Hearing nothing, he guessed the woman was still standing on the other side. “I will give you a gold coin if you will help me.”

  There was no answer. He knocked again. He turned, started to shuffle away when the door creaked open behind him. He turned back to find the woman leaning against the door jamb with her hand on her hip. She looked no less irritable.

  “Sign of the cross,” she said bluntly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said, sign of the cross. The silver.”

  Usher Fell was confused. The silver…the cross…the idea popped into his head that she was trying to make some reference to Judas and the pieces of silver he was given to betray Him. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand…”

  The woman grew angry. “Fork and spoon, fork and spoon! The note said, if the answer was yes, he was to cross his fork and his spoon!”

  Finally he understood. The silverware. “Ah! The Supreme Elder’s answer! Your daughter did get the message through. Well, bless her then. And bless you, ma’am!”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be plenty blessed if I never see you again. Where’s my money?”

  He handed her the coin. She studied it, hefted it in her hand, then slammed the door on him once more. Usher Fell walked away relieved. He had a plan, and now it was blessed by his superior. Which meant, for all and good, that it was blessed by God.

  The woman leaned her back against the closed door. “We’ll take this coin for our troubles,” she said to Marlie, who looked up at her from a bowed head. “But the queen is right. Don’t you do that no more.”

  “He was a priest,” the girl said. “How did I know what’s right to do when it’s priests that asks?”

  “Well, it’s a mite confusin’, I admit.” The woman looked at the coin. “But now we know which side is right, for sure. The worst men, Marlie, those who do the darkest deeds…they always pay the most for sneak work. Don’t forget that.”

  “Yes, Momma. I won’t.”

  And Mrs. Blotch slipped the coin into her apron.

  When Dayton Throme awoke, the villages were burning. He saw the fire from where he lay on his side. Smoke, and flame. He picked his head up, and it swam around in circles. He put it back down on the mat. It swam some more. He shivered. He looked again at the village. Billowing black smoke poured upward. It seemed to him that huge buckets of ash and soot were being emptied from the earth into the sky, poison flowing upward. He smelled it. It made him want to retch.

  He shivered again. With great effort, he sat up. The world spun around him, but this time he felt warm hands on his arms, his neck, his head. He lay his head back and relaxed into something, into a dark dream of motion and comfort and textures, wool and leather and satin and sand. He opened his eyes. Skins and blankets covered him. Blank faces, painted with bright colors, vermilion, ultramarine, emerald. He recognized several elders. Zhintah-Hoak was here. They were all here. They were silent. Watchful. And then they disappeared, and darkness enfolded him.

  And then he was looking out to sea, over the mayak-aloh and its pure blue waters, and past it to the horizon. He was not on his own small hill, but somewhere else. They had brought him to some high point above the islands. They had propped him up here, looking out. His face felt cool, bare, oiled. He felt it with his hands. They had shaved his beard. They had painted his face.

  Dayton closed his eyes as the realization came home to him. His sickness. The smoke, and the fires. The war paint.

  Tannan-thoh-ah.

  They thought the end was near. He felt the world spin. He shivered and then fell back to sleep.

  “That’s a lot of gold.” Dirk Menafee hefted the bag.

  Princess Jacqalyn just laughed. “That? Heavens.” She had ten times as much in the dresser drawer not three feet from him.

  The part-time brigand, longtime bounty hunter, and onetime hero of the Battle of the Green stroked his grizzled beard, then poked his finger around in the small sack. “How many coins is this?”

  “Twenty,” Usher Fell said. “That’s half. The other half when the job’s done.”

  He shook his head. “You’re askin’ a lot. A man gets hanged for a job like this. They never quit huntin’ you.”

  The princess walked around the small table. They were seated in a lavish private parlor adjacent to her bedroom, here in the dark inn where Usher Fell had moved her. It was the same inn to which Talon had taken Panna in preparation for the assassination of Senslar Zendoda. The princess was not familiar with this place, though she had heard of it. But now she found it very much to her liking. Standing, she moved her chair next to Dirk’s. She scooted it in close, then sat down to his left and put her left elbow on the table, right in front of him. She looked him in the eye. She was dressed down, for her, but she was still dazzling.

  “My dear man,” she cooed, her every movement smooth as oil. “Let us examine the situation. You are being asked to do a service for your government and your Church, and you will have the protection of them both. And,” she tapped the bag of coins in his hand, “you are being paid quite handsomely for it.”

  “It’s just somethin’ a man needs to think about, long and hard.” He looked in the bag again.

  She ran a polished fingernail softly down his cheek. He looked up, startled. She caught him with her eyes. “When it is done, the queen of all the land will hold you in the highest possible esteem.”

  “Yeah? How high?”

  Her eyes took him in, swallowing him whole. “The highest esteem. What do you think, Father Fall? Perhaps a dukedom for our dear Dirk?”

  “Oh, at least,” the priest said with assurance. “But let’s get the work done first.” He unrolled
a map across the table. “And it’s Fell, by the way.”

  They saw the smoke before they saw the land from which it rose. It filled the horizon, gray at first, then black and thick. As they drew nearer, the Trophy Chase went silent, her crew watching with grave concern.

  “Looks like the whole blazin’ sea is burnin’,” Delaney offered, awestruck.

  “It’s more than one island,” Mutter replied.

  “How does that happen?” Delaney asked, not illogically. “All the islands at once. Fire can’t jump water.”

  “The blazes were set.” Mutter said it with his usual sense of dark conviction.

  “Who would want to go burning Achawuk islands?”

  “The Achawuk.”

  “Nah. Why?”

  Mutter watched for a long time, his jaw muscles clenching, releasing, as though in a spasm. Then he said in his darkest, lowest voice. “Because we come.”

  “Smoke, dead ahead!” came the cry from the lookout, high above the Marchessa.

  Moore Davies peered through his telescope at the horizon. Sure enough. He expected his Firefish Fleet, as it was now called, to raise the Achawuk islands within an hour or two. That smoke would be coming from about the right spot. But what was burning?

  Davies commanded the full flotilla again—all but the three ships that had perished at the hands of the Drammune. Gone were the Gant Marie, struck amidships, Forcible, brutally assaulted, and Windward, burned to the waterline. His fastest ships were in the lead, full of huntsmen and lures, sides of beef and beef blood. In addition to the Marchessa, these included Rake’s Parry, Danger, Candor, Campeche, Swordfish, Wellspring, and the Poy Marroy.

  The slower ships were decked out for the processing of Firefish: Gasparella, Black-Eyed Susan, Homespun, Bonny Ann, and Blunderbuss. They had been returned to their former inglorious forms, their main decks cleared of cannon and refitted as flensing floors, where the flesh of Firefish would be cut from bone, the meat cut and packed. The foredecks would be for experienced lemmers, where organs, bone, and teeth would be separated, boiled, and cleaned. The afterdeck was for tanning, rigged now with heavy clotheslines on which the hide could be cured before being packed in salt and lime.