City of Jade: A Novel of Mithgar

by Dennis McKiernan

  On the very next watch the wind force increased, and once again the crew was dispatched onto the dangerous decks and up to the hazardous spars, this time at Nikolai’s command, and all jibs were pulled and the mains reefed to the last star. And now the ship ran mostly on the staysails and the upper and lower topsails, the Eroean flying less than a third of full silk.

  The following watch Aravan took command, and after an hour or so, the wind picked up yet again, and the Elven captain ordered forth the crew to reef the mains and the crossjack to the full.

  “Diabolos, Kapitan,” shouted Nikolai above the wind, “I t’ink if this keep up, soon we be sailing on yards alone.”

  Aravan grinned at the second officer. “Mayhap, Nikolai. Mayhap. But if it’s to bare sticks we go, then backwards we will fare.”

  Even though the galley was locked down for the heavy seas, its fire extinguished, still Nelon, ship’s cook, managed to brew tea, and Noddy made his way up through the trapdoor and into the small wheelhouse, the lad bearing a tray of steaming mugs. That he managed to carry the cups in the pitching ship without spilling a drop spoke well of his agility and balance. With a grin he passed the tray about to Aravan and Fat Jim and Nikolai, then disappeared belowdecks once more.

  As Aravan sipped his tea, he wiped the condensation from the window and peered at the raging sea. “Vash! Here comes a wall.” Aravan quickly set his cup to the holder and called, “Pipe the crew on deck, Nikolai; we’ll need to change course.” And he took a grip on the wheel on one side while Fat Jim held the spokes across. “Prepare to come about. On the starboard bow quarter this tack.”

  At the moment Nikolai opened the trap to go below and summon the crew, a blinding hurl of white engulfed the Eroean, the Cape of Storms living up to its name as wind-driven snow slammed horizontally across the Elvenship.

  A sevenday plus two it took to round the cape, sometimes the Eroean seemingly driven abaft while at other times she surged ahead. And at all times the savage wind tore at her, while the greybeards struggled to wrench her down. Snow and ice weighed heavily on her rigging, and Men and Dwarves were sent aloft to break loose the pulleys so the ropes would run free. Tacking northwest up across the wind and southwest back down, Aravan sailed by dead reckoning, for no stars nor moon in the short nights did he see, nor sun in the long days. Nor did he see the southern aurora writhing far beyond the darkness above, shifting curtains of spectral light draped high in the icy skies, as if a strange wind blew out from the sun to illumine the polar nights.

  Still, battered by wind and wave, the Eroean took nine full days before she could run clear on a northwesterly course, free of the cape at last, Aravan’s reckoning true, the crew superb in handling the craft and not a Man or Dwarf lost unto the grasping sea. Even so, all were weary, drained by this rugged pass, including her captain, a thing seldom seen by any of the crew. Yet finally the ship’s routine returned to something resembling normality though the winds yet blew agale, but they were steady on the larboard. And running on a course with the wind to the port, mains and crossjack and jibs back full, up into the Weston Ocean the Elvenship ran, the log line humming out at nineteen knots, the Eroean flying o’er the waves.

  And once the ship was out of danger, Aravan fell into a deep sleep, and Aylis did not see him awake for a full two days.

  A week later across the Doldrums of the Goat the Eroean fared, this time heading north, the ship laden with all sail set, yet moving slowly in the light air—“Slipping past the Horns of Old Billy,” as Noddy had said. Three days it took to cross the calms, three days ere the wind picked up again, now coming from abaft. North-northwest she drove, sweeping through the coastal waters of the wide Realm of Hyree.

  Five days under full sail she ran on the northerly trek, the winds steady but moderate, until they came once more unto the Midline Irons, where they unshipped the gigs to tow the Eroean across the placid equatorial waters.

  At last the winds returned, blowing lightly down from the northeast, and into these she fared, sailing through the gap between Hyree to the south and Vancha to the north, finally entering into the Avagon Sea along the Straits of Kistan. A day she coursed as the skies turned a sullen grey, and still to the north lay Vancha, but now to the south lay Kistan.

  “Sail ho, crimson!” called the foremast lookout. “Sail ho on the larboard bow!”

  Nikolai’s gaze swept the horizon forward and left, then stopped. A heartbeat later—“Ring alarm, Noddy, and stand by to pipe crew.”

  Noddy hammered a tattoo upon the ship’s bell, and moments later crew and warband spilled onto the deck as Aravan came to the wheel. James stepped to Noddy’s side, but left the bosun whistle in the lad’s hands.

  “Where away, Nikolai?”

  “There, Kapitan,” replied the man from the Islands of Stone, pointing.

  Just on the horizon, scarlet lateen sails could be discerned, a two-masted dhow heading downwind in the general direction of the Elvenship.

  “Nikolai, bring the Eroean to a northeast heading. Put this rover on our starboard beam.”

  “Aye-aye, Kapitan.”

  Aravan turned to the wheelman. “Wooly, ready to bring her to the course laid in.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Noddy, pipe the sails and then fetch Brekk.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” responded the cabin boy, and he blew the command and then handed the whistle to James and sped away.

  As the Eroean came to the new heading, Brekk stepped to the wheel, the Dwarf accoutered for combat. “Where away?”

  Aravan pointed.

  Brekk looked long, then glanced up at the pale blue Elven-silk against the somber skies.

  Aravan said, “Armsmaster, we should know within half a glass whether this Rover will be foolish or wise.”

  Brekk grunted and said, “We will be ready.”

  Then the Dwarf made a circuit of the ship to all the ballistas, readying the crews of missile casters for battle.

  Steadily the Kistanian ship ran downwind west-southwest, and just as steadily the Eroean haled crosswind, northeasterly, up and toward the track of the freebooter. Time eked by, and still the Rover ran on his straight course, as did the Elvenship.

  “Keep her on our beam, Nikolai.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Wooly?”

  “Aye, Captain, I’m ready, too.”

  “James?”

  “Ready as well, Captain.”

  “Then pipe away.”

  Gradually the Eroean headed up into the stiff wind, now running on an easterly reach. Still the crimson-sailed pirate fared southwesterly, running downwind, the vessel now nearing the Elvenship.

  Of a sudden the raider changed course and fled toward the Isle of Kistan.

  Down on the main deck, “Kruk!” barked Brekk. “Cowards all. She is afraid to take on Eroean.”

  Beside him, Dokan said, “I think the Rover captain didn’t even see us until she was nigh upon us.”

  Once again, Brekk glanced up at the cerulean sails against the dark grey skies, and then down at the indigo hull. Finally he looked toward the fleeing ship. Then he sighed and said, “Sometimes I wish we were harder to see.”

  Ten days later in the heart of the night the Eroean haled into the wide waters of Hile Bay, and she docked at one of the stone piers below the city of Pendwyr.

  All the next day and the one after the cargo was unladed, and new ballast was taken on to replace the weight of the porcelain ware, for it would not do to have the Eroean turn turtle at the first strong wind or great wave. When the ship was empty of cargo and laden with the proper ballast, Aravan had her tugged away from the docks to anchor in the bay.

  He set the crew free to “do the town,” and knowing the crew as well as he did, he knew that most of them would try.

  The very next morning, Aravan and Alyssa and Lissa and Vex all paid their respects to High King Ryon and Queen Dresha, Aylis and Lissa and Vex standing by as Dresha oohed and aahed and murmured over the golden designs on
black, while Aravan and Ryon stepped into the courtyard and flew arrows at distant targets.

  After a private midday meal with the High King and his Queen, Aravan and Aylis and Lissa—the Pysk once again hidden in the hood of Aylis’s cloak—and Vex on his string tether, went to the libraries of Caer Pendwyr to see what they could discover about the City of Jade.

  They carried with them a small jade statuette on which was carved a haiku in a strange tongue:

  Thrice I dreamt the dream

  From the City of Jade I fled

  Nought but shades now dwell

  36

  Over the Wall

  BURGLARS

  EARLY SUMMER, 6E9

  With their captives encloaked, as the buccen softly trod along the alleyway, Pipper shook himself from his reminisces. Yes, burglars we became: with me the planner and smoother of the way in, and Bink the lock picker—Pip glanced at his cousin and grinned, remembering that time in the marketplace—cutpurse, too. Oh, how Tark must’ve raged over that.

  Pipper gave a soft giggle and said, “Burglars and chicken thieves we are, Bink, and you a cutpurse.” Then Pipper sobered and asked, “What have we become?”

  Binkton softly growled and said, “We are robbing the robbers, Pip, dealing out just retribution and returning to the victims what is rightfully theirs; never forget that.”

  “Yes, but we are taking the law into our own hands, Bink, and that isn’t right.”

  “In a lawless city, Pip, what else can we do?”

  “Notify the High King,” said Pipper. “That’s what. I mean, surely he’d send King’s Men in to clean things up.”

  Binkton nodded and said, “Well, now that we’ve identified the crime lord, what you say seems like a good idea. Remember what the Ravenbook says.”

  “It says a lot of things, Bink.”

  “I mean the part where Brega told Tuck and the others that if you cut off the serpent’s head, the rest of the snake dies. Well, if the King arrests Rackburn and all his henchmen, including the city watch, clearly Rivers End will be better off.”

  “It will indeed,” said Pipper. “And after we get back Lady Jane’s silvers, let’s go to Caer Pendwyr and tell the High King. Surely he will break the hold of Rackburn and his Rivermen on this town.” Pipper stopped, stopping Binkton as well, and Pipper said, “Speaking of regaining Lady Jane’s silvers, here’s what I think we ought to do. . . .”

  After Pipper explained his plan, he and Binkton fell to complete silence as they neared Rackburn’s house. Binkton took control of all the chickens as Pipper climbed the wall. When he reached the spikes, he cautiously peered over the top. In the moonlight shining down and into the yard, he could see two of the dogs lounging on the grass. Of the third dog, there was no sign. Oh, well, if my plan works, he’ll soon show up. Pipper turned and signaled Binkton, pointing to the places where lounged the dogs. Binkton then reached within one of the bundled cloaks and pulled out a chicken by its legs and flung it over the wall. As it flew squawking through the air, quickly Binkton threw a second and then a third. The yard erupted in uproar, as the mastiffs chased after the three fowl. Lanterns were lit, and a door slammed open, and several of the house guards came rushing out. With barking and squawking and chickens running about, dogs in pursuit, someone yelled, “Wot th—”

  And another shouted, “Ar, it’s that stupid Wingard’s chickens got loose ag’in.”

  “Rip! Slash! Render!” bellowed a third, trying to get control of the dogs.

  In the roaring, squawking, yelling chaos and confusion, Pipper slid to the alleyway and clapped his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing aloud, giggles escaping from between his fingers.

  “Har! I got me a hen!” whooped one of the men. “We’ll have us a meal tonight.”

  Then came a growl and a snap and the sound of bones breaking like twigs as a chicken squawked its last, and in that same moment one of the hens flew over the wall, escaping with her life. Loud barking followed after, as if one of the huge mastiffs stood with its paws up against the barrier.

  Then there came the sound of two of the dogs fighting, perhaps over the remains of the slain chicken, and the shouting of men trying to separate the brutes.

  In nearby houses along the alleyway, lanterns were lit and sashes were lowered and protesting shouts rang through the night from outraged people who had been awakened.

  Finally, the snarling, raging, and cursing quieted. Candles and lanterns were extinguished. Sashes were drawn up. And the neighborhood fell silent again.

  That was when Binkton hurled in the last chicken over the wall.

  Once more the night air was filled with uproar, and when it finally fell silent again, the dogs had been locked in their kennel, and the house guards had returned to preparing their dinner, now with two hens for their meal.

  Pipper threw the padded grapnel across and onto the balcony, where it landed with a light thump. Carefully he drew in the rope, until the hooks caught on the rail. Then he pulled the line tight and tied it off against one of the wall spikes.

  “But, Pip,” whispered Binkton, “why don’t we just do it as first planned: over the wall, through the yard, and climb up the rope?”

  “Because, even though they are in their kennel, the dogs are still down at that level. We need a way to cross over without alerting them.”

  Binkton growled, but said nothing in return.

  “Come on,” said Pipper, “let’s go.” And he stood atop the wall and lightly ran along the line to the balcony.

  Dangling underneath and with his legs thrown over the rope and pulling himself by hand, Binkton followed. He had almost reached the balcony when the door below opened.

  Still hanging under the line, Binkton froze in place up against the edge of the balcony.

  One of the house guards, a burly man whistling tunelessly, walked across the yard and threw chicken entrails in to the dogs. As the mastiffs snarled and squabbled for a share, the man strode back through the grass and into the house. Never once had he looked up.

  Binkton scrambled up and over the rail. He stood a moment, trembling. Pipper put a hand on Binkton’s shoulder, but said nought. Finally, Binkton took a deep breath, and then softly stepped to the left edge of the balcony and examined the window just beyond.

  In moments he had the sash lowered into its recess, and the buccen silently clambered in.

  They waited for their eyes to adjust to the enshadowed interior.

  “Now to the strongbox,” murmured Pipper, and he faced the far wall and said. “My guess is it’s over behind the desk.”

  They padded across and around, where they found: “Bink,” hissed Pipper. “Look—” Faintly in the shadows they could see the orange and yellow flames painted on the side of the large case. “—it’s our chest.”

  “Those rat-eating, Rûck-loving sons of a Troll—” Binkton began, but Pipper shushed him to quietness.

  Even as Binkton knelt to spring the lock, the door burst open and four men charged into the room, one of them bearing a lantern.