“It’s about Richard Alth,” Jason said.
The officer stopped in his tracks.
No one spoke except for a few murmurs among the crew as they returned to the ship, where another officer at the head of the gangplank saluted and stepped aside. The men dispersed after receiving an order to stand down, and Jason followed the officer down a hatchway and through a narrow corridor to what seemed like the end of the ship. The officer showed him in to a large cabin lit by a dozen candles.
The silence was starting to unnerve him a little. “I take it you’re the captain?”
“Alan Garser.” Tossing his cap to the table’s surface, he shut the door. “What about Alth?”
Think this one through. “I grew up on the Alth estate and was tutored along with him. I know him fairly well, and I’m prepared to use whatever I know against him.”
The captain pulled out a chair and gestured Jason to do the same. “When did you leave his estate?”
“When I was fifteen.”
“His decision, I take it?”
Jason nodded. “The last I heard, the Council’s army ended his rebellion and ran him to ground, but he escaped by some clever trick.” Richard Alth’s getaway had turned him into a folk hero in some parts of the land, and there was talk that he had become a pirate, which Jason supposed made him all the more dashing.
The captain got up, opened the door and leaned out enough to shout for someone to bring them a hot drink. Jason hoped that was a favorable sign. Surely he wouldn’t bother drinking with someone he was going to dismiss in a moment.
“And how did you know this ship was going after Alth?” he said.
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to reveal that.” Jason fell back on the dry, factual, government-employee tone he’d perfected. “All I can tell you is that I knew Alth, I want to see him brought to justice and I offer you my services in any way you might find useful towards that end.”
“What did he look like?”
Of course, he had to prove he was telling the truth. He pictured himself back in a sunlit schoolroom, sitting at a desk with a careful space between him and a boy the same age, albeit infinitely more wealthy and wellborn. But damn, he’d have changed since he was fifteen.
“Tall,” he said. “Blond hair. Brown eyes.” Beyond that, he couldn’t be sure.
The captain clearly wasn’t impressed. He drummed his fingers against the table and looked around as if silently asking the furniture, Can you believe this? Something on the table seemed to catch his attention, and he pulled out a map. He laid it before Jason, blank side uppermost.
“Can you draw a picture?” He tossed a pencil down.
That was an odd request, but Jason knew better than to refuse. “I can try.”
“Do that. I’ll return soon.” Captain Garser went out, and the cabin seemed both quieter and larger.
Jason made himself as comfortable as he could in the chair and started sketching, trying not to remember the last time he’d done that. He’d had a talent for painting when he was younger, but it had contributed to his being evicted from the Alth estate, and after that he’d never so much as put charcoal to paper. His fingers felt rusty as a result, and the fact that he was drawing Richard Alth didn’t help either.
The door opened, but it wasn’t the captain. Instead, a man Jason guessed was the steward brought in a tray with two steaming cups. Another man entered and sank down on the opposite side of the table, resting bare elbows on its surface before he reached for a cup. His hands were red and damp, as though they had been scrubbed clean recently, and a rust-colored fleck or two stained his nondescript clothes.
Jason hazarded a guess. “Are you the ship’s surgeon?”
The man nodded. “Dr. Strant.” He wrapped his hands around the cup. “Do have some. It’s cocoa with rum and red sugar.”
That did sound tasty, and he didn’t know how long it would be before his next meal. So he finished off the rest of the cocoa and his sketch as well, though not before making several corrections. Dr. Strant slumped back in the other chair and said nothing.
The captain finally returned, shrugging out of his coat so fast that his steward made a grab for it before it could hit the floor. He went to the tray, reaching for a cup before he realized both were empty.
“It’ll be time for breakfast soon enough,” Dr. Strant said. Jason glanced at the window and saw it was almost dawn. The sky in the east, towards Denalay, looked as though a fire had been lit below the horizon, its light limning the clouds with gold.
The captain sat down, rubbing the back of his neck. “How is Trevor?”
“He died.” Dr. Strant compressed his lips and glanced down as if thinking how to convey the rest of his news. “She’s stable. She recovered consciousness and her condition will be monitored.”
The captain glanced at Jason. “Trevor got in her way and we found him bleeding on the deck. But we need her.” He held out his hand.
Guessing he wanted the sketch, Jason passed it over, and the captain stared at it for a long moment before he dismissed his steward. “Would you know Alth if you saw him today?” he said once the door had closed. “Would you recognize him?”
That explained the sketch. Jason considered, then nodded. “Unless he’s changed a great deal in seventeen years, I should be able to recognize him. Especially if I can hear his voice too.”
Captain Garser’s stare was hard and unblinking, to the point where Jason wondered if he had said something wrong. His shirt felt damp against his back, and it wasn’t only from dredging up the past. No, he wasn’t imagining the dislike in the captain’s face.
“I wouldn’t have you so much as scrubbing down the deck if Trevor was still here,” Captain Garser said finally. “But I suppose we have no choice.”
Dr. Strant cleared his throat. “Trevor was Alth’s aide and secretary,” he said. “He left Alth’s employ before the rebellion was crushed, and went to the Council to tell them everything he knew, so he was pardoned. But he was also required to travel with us to identify Alth.”
Jason had studied military campaigns as part of his history lessons, but he’d never before heard of such care being taken to make certain of an enemy’s identity. “Was there some question about his appearance?”
Captain Garser grimaced. “When the Council forces brought Alth to heel, he hired a lookalike who dressed in his clothes, and that man ended up being killed in his place. It wasn’t until the body was brought back to Radiath that the ruse fell through. The Council doesn’t plan to let him try that a second time.”
“I see,” Jason said, though he didn’t think the Council needed to go to that extent, because Richard was not the kind of person who needed to play the same trick twice. Not that he had any intention of saying so. “I’ll do what I can to help.”
“You can start by never hiding the truth from me again.” Garser leaned over and slapped a hand down flat on the sketch, so hard it made the cups rattle. “Thanks to that little bitch, I didn’t even have time to say farewell to my wife, but at least I was able to visit the telegraph office to confirm your identity.”
Oh, damn. Garser curled his fingers into a fist and the sketch crumpled slowly between them.
“So much for that hogwash about justice,” he said. “You’re here because you pulled a fast one with the Ministry and you didn’t know where else to go. Try anything of the kind again on my ship and I’ll have you thrown overboard.” Releasing the ruined sketch, he straightened up. “Welcome to Nemesis, Mr. Remerley.”
Chapter Four
Leaving Harbor
Lera had very little to pack—a spare uniform and a hairbrush, which made a small bundle. Kovir didn’t have much either—his sharkskin suit, a pot of grease, a mask and flippers. Though she thought it was time for him to start carrying a shaving kit as well.
It was so early the sky was a field
of ink except for a pale smudge low in the east, a hint of light brushing the underbellies of clouds with white gold. The crew of Checkmate gathered to wish them the best of fortune and the blessing of the Unity, though Lera didn’t think the Unity had much power or influence in another land.
She tucked her bundle under her arm, adjusted the angle of her white hat so it slanted over one eye and went down the gangplank with Kovir. Nemesis was at the other side of the harbor, Captain Garser had told her, and although it was dawn before the two of them reached it, she mentally shrugged. The ship could hardly leave without Kovir, after all.
Garser ran a punctual ship, and steam already drifted from the two tall copper funnels. They were the only thing Nemesis seemed to have in common with Checkmate. Lera paused to peer into the water, but either that was so opaque it hid the paddlewheel or the ship had a completely different method of propulsion. Cut into the hull were ten gunports, closed tightly. She knew the danger with keeping those open was that if the ship heeled over for any reason, the gun deck risked being flooded—and pulling the ship down farther with the weight of water, not to mention drowning everyone stationed on that deck.
She asked for permission to come aboard, identifying herself and Kovir, and they were invited to board by a man who introduced himself as Patrick Deldeon, the first officer. The usual small crowd of dockworkers, families and gawkers was there to watch, and as soon as the gangplank was drawn in, the mooring ropes were cast off. Lera noticed no one was waving them farewell, and it wasn’t the early hour which was responsible for the somberness.
Below the deck the engine rumbled. Four tugboats had already moved into position, ropes extended to Nemesis, and like pilot fish to a shark, they guided the warship out, maneuvering carefully past other vessels. In the growing light, the mouth of the harbor showed clear and unobstructed.
At first she’d been resentful that more warships weren’t being sent with them, but a moment’s thought had shown how dangerous that could be. If enemies of Dagre wanted to attack a strategically significant harbor or port city, what better way to do so than to lure the warships away from home waters first? So a distant threat was likely to make the Dagran fleet guard its shores that much more closely, sparing only one ship—hopefully the best ship—to deal with the new problem.
The tugboats cut their lines and scurried out of the way. Lera went to the stern to watch. She saw Garser high on the quarterdeck, but he wasn’t shouting orders to take the ship out; he didn’t need to. The crew moved like well-oiled parts of a machine themselves. The wheel spun, steam billowed up from the funnels, and from either side of the stern, water churned until it turned white, frothing to the surface. Kovir watched as well.
Nemesis passed through the mouth of the harbor, and the sea opened up before them. Lera felt an odd tugging in her chest, as if she was leaving behind something vital to her. Whenever she had sailed out before, she had been on her own deck, and she was only too aware that she was a guest on Nemesis. The sailors went about their tasks, but they gave her surreptitious looks, since women weren’t exactly common on Dagran warships.
Garser came to see her and Kovir as soon as the ship was under way. “I should have welcomed you aboard myself,” he said, “but I hope my first officer made up for that shortfall. Would you care to see your cabin?”
Just one cabin, then, but Lera hadn’t expected anything different—space on board warships was always limited. After she and Kovir stowed their possessions, Garser took them to his cabin for a quick breakfast.
“There’s a passenger I’d like you to meet,” he said to Kovir as they finished their meal. “A representative of the Science Institute.”
“What’s his purpose on board?” Lera said.
“Her purpose.” Garser smiled. “We may not need women to fight our battles for us, but that doesn’t mean they’re confined to the kitchen and the nursery. Her name is Charlotte Rheme and she’s here to test out some new invention. Come, I’ll introduce you to her.”
Lera had hoped to see the invention, but everything Charlotte had brought aboard was still packed in chests or wrapped in canvas. “You’ll get to see it soon enough,” Garser said. “And use it, too, if everything goes as planned.”
If the Dagrans were playing coy, the last thing she would do was show any interest in the game, so she said nothing. Charlotte asked if she could speak to Kovir alone, so Lera left the two of them and went topside. Old habits died hard, and she didn’t feel comfortable being away from the deck too long.
She looked around, taking in some sights that were familiar—rowboats in their davits, a crow’s nest high on the mainmast—but a steam engine meant less work on the deck. All the activity was out of sight, just as the method of propulsion was beneath the surface.
The sun was well over the horizon by then, making brass and copper gleam, and flags snapped out in the wind. When she glanced behind them, the harbor was out of sight already and the twin white wakes dispersed as the sea closed behind them.
Time to see what lay ahead of them instead. She turned to start forward, but stopped in her tracks. A man stood at the prow, leaning on the rail, and although she couldn’t see much else at that distance, he wore a brown jacket that stood out among the officers’ deep blue-and-gold and the lighter blue of the deckhands.
No. It couldn’t be him. She was imagining things, that was all—there was absolutely no reason for him to be on board the ship. He was far away by then. Anyway, it was ridiculous that one Dagran could have had such an effect on her. She had no intention of every tall, dark-haired man in brown making her remember him, and the sooner she got it all out of her system, the better. Maybe she’d see what Garser thought of women in the captain’s cabin at night.
After she made sure the man wasn’t him.
The stays running from the funnels to the sides of the ship were high overhead and she didn’t need to duck to avoid anything, but she thought that if they had been in the way, she would have walked right through them without noticing. She made herself move without any haste as she climbed up to the prow, but before she reached it, he turned as if about to leave and saw her.
It was him. Lera felt an odd little jolt behind her ribs, but she didn’t allow that to check her stride. One glance around to make sure they were out of earshot of anyone else, and she approached him. He clearly hadn’t shaved that morning, and his hair seemed to have been finger-combed, not that she gave a damn what he looked like.
“What are you doing here?” she said, relieved her voice sounded so matter-of-fact.
“I volunteered to join the ship early this morning.”
She looked at him blankly. It had been bad enough seeing him on Checkmate, but at least he’d had some excuse for being there. On Nemesis, he was a landbounder with no useful skills at all. If the ship’s security hadn’t been so tight, she would have thought he’d lied his way aboard somehow.
She folded her arms. “I’d ask why, but I wouldn’t be able to believe a word you said.”
He smiled, though there wasn’t much humor in it, and his brows rose. “Shall I tell you the truth, then? How I actually know Richard Alth, and why he hated me?”
Damn it all. Lera longed to decline with icy grace and walk away, but both the Dagran government and Jason were so secretive that when she finally did catch a glimpse under their shells, she wanted to learn more. She supposed she could always listen; she didn’t have to tell him anything or make concessions in return.
“Go on,” she said as indifferently as she could.
“I grew up on his family’s estate. My father rented a cottage—well, it was more of a single room—and worked on the land. Plowing, harvesting, digging ditches, herding animals.”
Lera had grown up in a cottage twice that size, but she tried not to remember that part of her life. She focused on the inconsistency in his story instead.
“Then how did you manage to b
ecome a health inspector?” she asked.
“My father was determined I’d have a better life. He worked hard to keep us both fed and sheltered, and every penny he earned above that went to my education. I was lucky too—when the lord found out I could read and write, he had me take lessons along with his son.” He laughed quietly. “Though I was more of an incentive than a companion. As in, ‘if this lowborn peasant boy can learn geometry, you damn well will too, and better’.”
Lera silently thanked the Unity she had been born in Denalay. Not that it was a perfect land—far from that, she knew from experience—but at least there was no such hidebound, unfair caste system that considered someone’s blood more important than their ability.
“So that’s why he hated you,” she said.
“No. I eventually became better than him at some subjects—mathematics and art, mostly—but he always beat me hands down at history and science. We were never friends, but if I hadn’t done something stupid and unkind, I might still be living on his land.”
Lera tried and failed to imagine what he could have done, because he didn’t strike her as being either foolish or cruel. Whatever it was, it must have been awful, if it had warranted his eviction. The mistake she had made, the one which had earned her the scar, might not be so bad in comparison.
It took an effort to keep the interest out of her voice, to speak as flatly as if she was asking the time. “What did you do?”
“Do you want to trade?” Jason said.
Lera blinked. When had they been discussing trading? “Trade what?”
“All Captain Garser told me was that we’re hunting for Richard’s ship, Princeps. Obviously there’s more to it than that. If you can tell me anything more, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about my history with Richard.”
For a moment she couldn’t believe she had heard that—it was as unreal as when she had first seen him on Nemesis’s prow—and then incredulity gave way to something more stinging than a beebite. So that was the reason for the tale. He’d manipulated her once more, and to think she’d actually been under the stupid impression that she wouldn’t have to make any concessions to him. Nothing would make her divulge a word to him.
The Highest Tide Page 7
