A Marriage of Friends

by Jeffrey Quyle

  The footsteps overhead momentarily faltered, but then resumed their movement, though they were growing less dense. Presumably most of the raiders had actually left the pier, Marco guessed.

  The light dimmed within seconds, but remained at a low level, equal to the light of a sunny day down where Marco stood in the damp underside of the dockyards. He released the blanket, and stood. The light was astonishing, and frightening, especially coming as it did in conjunction with the Corsairs. Marco couldn’t imagine what they could have done to create such illumination; there was no heat, or crackling sound to indicate a huge fire burning.

  As the number of footsteps continued to dwindle, Marco decided he needed to see what was happening overhead. He gently reached into the room and placed his wineskin within. He then searched around in the dim light, looking for the most discrete and indirect way he could travel to avoid detection, and set out. He walked along the top of a beam, then jumped over to another one, and made his way to the edge of the pier, where empty space stood between him and the next pier over, which jutted out from the shoreside docks just as his pier did. The gap between the two piers was close to twenty yards, wide enough for a ship to tie up at each pier, side-by-side as they conducted their exchange of goods.

  He was on the side of the pier away from the Corsair ships, though he could see their dark bulk on the other side of the pier he was climbing on. He climbed up a piling, getting a painful splinter in his finger from the rough wood, and getting smeared with waterproof pitch that was intended to protect the wood from the seawater. When he was just below the level of the pier he stopped. Overhead he could see a light yellow dome. It was high overhead, perhaps fifty or sixty feet above the surface of the pier. He heard no sounds of anyone walking or moving in the vicinity of where he had arisen, so he stuck his head up cautiously, and looked around.

  There were three viscous-looking ships moored to the pier he clung to, and he saw a fourth ship tied to the next pier. The ships had a clearly war-like appearance, with shields raised along parts of their sides, and weapons visibly stacked on their decks. But Marco took little real notice of the ships as his eyes focused on a score of men who loitered on the pier, just yards away from him, towards the city end of the pier. The men were all dressed in dark clothes, many wearing chainmail, some wearing helmets; neither item was customarily seen in The Lion City. They men all held weapons – swords, pikes and axes, and they stood together in a circle. Their deep voices rumbled in the unknown language, and Marco crouched down slightly as he studied the situation.

  Nearly all the rest of the people Marco had heard walking overhead were gone. There were a few fleet shadows moving on the land adjacent to the piers, but apparently most of the invaders had entered the city already. There were distant sounds of shouts and screams, just a few, and Marco would have presumed they were part of the festivities taking place had it not been for what he was witnessing, which made him suspect there was a more sinister cause to the noise. The drunkenness and festive activity would help the Corsairs in their assault though, Marco realized. Few people would be alert and ready to fight back – the emptiness of the docks and the lack of guards were testament to that; and many people would take shouts and noise for granted at first, until disaster suddenly sprang upon them.

  Marco stood and watched for several minutes, as the group of Corsairs on the pier held a long conversation, one in which most of them seemed to listen to a speech by a man dressed in a gown, one who stood out from the others in that regard. He pointed upward from time to time, and made gestures, as Marco watched without understanding.

  Marco ducked his head back below the surface of the pier, and sat down on the crossbeam he had stood upon, trying to comprehend what he should do next. It was implausible to imagine that he could do anything in such circumstances, he realized. The only thing he could do was go back to his room and hide; wait for the few hours it would take for the terrible raid to end, then return to the city and find out what had happened.

  Just as he reached his logical conclusion, he heard a scream, a much louder, closer scream than he had heard previously. The scream was not from some distant part of the city – it sounded so close that Marco believed it came from the end of the pier. He cautiously raised his head again to examine the scene.

  All but one member of the group of men on the pier had migrated down to the end of the pier, down where it met the docks. They remained on the inside of the extraordinary yellow dome, as did Marco and the ships and a portion of the harbor’s waters. The city was outside the dome, and a group of Corsairs in the city mingled on the outside of the dome. The solitary Corsair who remained in the middle of the pier – the one who had been speaking to the earlier group – raised his arms, and spoke words that were harsh, different from the sibilant sounds of the language the Corsairs had used to that point.

  The man’s voices grew shriller, and his hands came together, then parted slowly, and as they did, Marco’s attention was diverted. A gateway within the yellow dome was lifting – the color difference disappeared at the end of the pier by the dockside, and the Corsairs from the city came bustling through the opening onto the pier, carrying heaps of riches and goods they had stolen. And carrying people as well.

  There were more than a half dozen people, mostly women, being carried out along the pier towards Marco. The men who carried them, and the men who carried the other booty, broke apart into small groups, and went to locations convenient to the three different ships that were tied to the pier. Goods and captives were placed down in heaps, and the screaming captives were roughly handled as they were laid down and bound with stout ropes. Marco felt his throat tighten and his heart drop as he watched the young women being mistreated, then left in place as the Corsairs left them behind and returned to the city to gather more goods.

  The solitary man on the pier watched the others leave – other than those who remained inside the dome, at the end of the pier – and then he repeated his incantations and gestures, and the yellow dome slid back down to the ground, sealing the pier and the ships off once again. Marco watched in stunned fear; that man, that very man – the one closest to him – was a sorcerer. The man was wielding incredible powers. Marco didn’t understand what the yellow dome was supposed to do, but he did know that it inspired fear and awe in him – awe of the unfathomable power and awe of the man who could control it.

  There was a ruckus at the end of the pier, and Marco turned to see that a group of the local gendarmes of the city had arrived at the dock. Their identity was not in doubt – they wore the same colorful, extravagant uniforms they wore when they walked about on patrol through the city. In Marco’s opinion they had no real role in the city other than to try to look pretty to impress girls who they flirted with as they walked by on the streets. They certainly never seemed to prevent or avenge any crimes that Marco saw.

  Yet now, for the first time ever, he saw them spring into action. They rushed at the end of the pier, coming to fight the invaders, seeking to set the captives free and to regain the looted treasures.

  The purpose of the dome became evident; when the gendarmes reached the yellow shield they were unable to penetrate it. They stood and shouted and pounded and gestured on the outside of the dome, while the score of Corsairs on the inside of the dome stood insolently watching them, making no move to battle, only offering obscene gestures.

  Marco watched the stand-off for several minutes, when suddenly a group of the raiding Corsairs returned with more plunder from the city. The Corsairs dropped their booty and began to fiercely attack the gendarmes from the city side. Then, as the city’s defenders turned to fight the new arrivals, the sorcerer made a motion and spoke some words. The dome lifted, and the Corsairs inside the dome stormed out, pinning the gendarmes between the two hostile forces as weapons swung viciously on all sides of the melee.

  The result was a horrific slaughter of the city’s defenders, as they were rapidly cut down. Marco turned away as the last men were butchered,
then looked up again at the sound and feel of men stepping onto the pier. More piles of plunder and captives appeared at various spots in front of the Corsair ships, and more value was stacked alongside what already existed as the Corsairs left their second round of rewards behind after a few minutes, and went out into the city again for a third round of looting.

  Marco looked at the extravagant piles of valuables that were stacked up on the side of the pier across from him. His eyes widened in astonishment as he recognized Angelica lying tied up and battered atop a pile of silver and gold dishes and goblets. The girl was crying hysterically, her face reddened, her dress ripped, a dark bruise starting to form on her visible arm, where a sleeve had been ripped off her expensive gown.

  As he looked at her, he realized that he might be able to set her free. It would be minutes before the Corsairs would return again. They surely would not miss one captive among the many they had strewn about the pier, he told himself. But what would he be able to do with her after he set her free? Could he even really set her free at all, or would the solitary sorcerer observe his efforts, and turn his deadly powers upon Marco?

  Carefully, Marco descended beneath the pier, and slowly picked his steps along the beams and around the posts as he tried to convince himself that there was a reasonable chance he could set Angelica free, without endangering her or himself. When he reached the edge of the pier, he had only a few narrow inches of space available to climb up between the pier and the Corsair ship that was tied there, rocking gently in place on the harbor waters.

  He crouched, steeling himself for making his move, his dangerous move, then cautiously raised his head up over the surface of the pier.

  Valuable treasures were piled up just inches in front of him, practically ready to spill off the edge of the pier into the water below. And on top of the glinting metal, Marco was startled to see a girl’s face, much closer that he had expected Angelica to appear. A pair of wide-set light gray eyes stared at him in startled fear, and at his appearance the girl began to scream.

  Marco instantly ducked his head, and realized he was trembling with fear. He took several deep breaths, preparing to go back beneath the pier, when he realized the screaming had ceased. After several seconds, he slowly raised his head again, and saw the eyes staring at him, calmer now, squinting and calculating as they watched him raise up.

  “You’re the boy from the alchemy shop; what are you doing here?” the girl asked.

  “I came here to set Angelica free,” he answered. He raised his head slightly, trying to look up over the girl and the pile of plunder, anxious about where the sorcerer was.

  The girl said something, but he paid no attention as he saw that Angelica was behind the girl, and above her, while the sorcerer still stood many yards away, staring at the dock-end of the pier, his back to the spot where Marco was squatting.

  “I said, ‘You don’t plan to rescue me?’” the girl repeated, the words registering in Marco’s brain this time as he ascertained that he was momentarily safe from detection by the Corsair sorcerer.

  She was the servant girl, Marco realized. When he had fallen to the ground outside the door of Algornia’s shop, there had been three witnesses to his awkward moment: the Countess Haubertine, Angelica, and the servant girl behind them. This was that same girl, still with Angelica, under circumstances that now were dire, not privileged.

  Marco raised his rusty knife and slowly pushed it forward towards the heavy rope that bound the girl’s wrists. Her eyes, followed the progress of his weapon, and she pressed her hands forwards, closer to Marco, as she intuitively understood what he was about to do.

  The rope was tough. His first slice left no mark on it, and Marco adjusted, pressing harder, so that the girl’s hands scooted backwards momentarily, before she pressed back, increasing the pressure, and spreading her wrists apart, to improve the tension in the rope. Marco’s next slice left a light mark, as several strands of the rope split apart, exposing the unsullied fibers on the interior of the knife.

  After that it was just a matter of patient work, taking several minutes. Marco felt trickles of sweat nervously running down his back, down his ribcage, down his neck – everywhere he could sweat, it seemed he did sweat, until the moment came when the ropes parted, and the girl shook her wrists free.

  “Cut the rope on my legs,” she said, wiggling her lower limbs towards him.

  There was a sound at the end of the dock, and Marco saw that the other Corsairs were returning to the dome. The sorcerer was making motions to raise the edge and let the plunderers return.

  “There’s not time,” he whispered frantically. “Here just climb down here, while I get Angelica.”

  He reached for her still-bound legs and pulled them towards himself, so that her feet dangled in the air beside him. “Now, drop down and stand on this beam,” he told her as he guided her feet down, then reached up and hugged her torso as her feet circled and dropped, trying desperately to find the elusive beam.

  “Okay,” she said a moment later, her hands holding onto him.

  The boards of the pier rumbled, as the Corsairs started to return with their stolen goods.

  Marco ducked down, and grabbed her shoulder to pull her down out of sight as well; there wasn’t time to rescue Angelica after all, at least not until the Corsairs left the pier again, if they left again.

  They both sat down on the beam, and Marco wordlessly reached down with his knife to begin to saw at her remaining ankle shackles, sawing doggedly even as they heard footsteps directly overhead, and the sound of goods being dumped above them. Marco stopped, and looked up at the servant girl’s face, their eyes locked in mutual fear as they waited, waited for something – for her absence to be noted, for the Corsairs to begin to move goods from the pier to the deck of the ship, for someone to suddenly swing a wicked blade downward at them – waiting for any fatal disaster.

  They held their breaths, and heard Angelica give a pair of muffled screams, provoked by some unknown indignity, then there was the sound of the Corsairs’ feet beginning to move down the pier once again, leaving their goods behind as they went forth to violate the city once again.

  “I’m going to go try to get Angelica,” Marco whispered to the girl next to him. “Just stay here and stay quiet,” he told her without even looking at her, as he prepared to risk everything and climb up onto the pier.

  He raised his head up to evaluate the distance to Angelica, to see if it was as far from the edge of the pier as he suspected. He was downcast to see that it was – he would have to climb completely up onto the surface of the pier to set the lovely girl from the noble family free, though he would at least be hidden behind the mounting pile of stolen goods that sat beneath and around Angelica.

  Marco cautiously crawled up along the backside of the loot, watching the sorcerer, who was occupied with lowering the yellow dome as the raiders went back out into the city.

  “Angelica, don’t say anything. I’m going to cut your ropes and set you free,” he whispered to the girl from behind her, as she lay facing outward towards the pier.

  “Who are you? Are you a friend?” Angelica whispered back.

  “Yes,” Marco answered. He stretched his hand around in front of her as he leaned atop her, and began to slowly saw the knife blade against the rope around her wrists. He wished the knife were sharper, and cursed the fact that he had always settled for having the dull, rusty blade, never having expected to ever really use the weapon for any purpose since he had found it in his room on his first discovery of the refuge.

  He saw the sorcerer finish his magical functions, and he froze in place, not moving a muscle.

  “Hurry up!” Angelica hissed at him.

  The sorcerer started to turn, and Marco ducked down behind Angelica, leaving her wrist bindings only partway cut.

  ‘Where are you going? Don’t leave me!” Angelica’s voice rose.

  “Ssshhhh!” Marco told her. “I’m right here.” He watched the sorcerer turn and wa
lk towards them. “I’ll start cutting the ropes around your feet,” he comforted her as he squirmed down the length of her body and began to cut the ropes in the back of her ankles.

  “Don’t leave me. Please set me free,” Angelica repeated.

  Marco said nothing. He kept vigorously sawing away at the back of the ropes at the girl’s feet. He switched hands after several minutes, and gave a small cheer a minute later as the last fibers were broken.

  “Don’t move yet,” he whispered as he moved back up to Angelica’s torso. He checked on the sorcerer; the man was standing closer to them, but facing away, watching a small battle take place on the dock as the Corsair’s rear guard fended off a group of townspeople who were on the attack. If the city was fighting back, then the Corsairs wouldn’t be able to continue pillaging much longer, Marco suspected; he needed to get the girls to safety quickly.

  Carefully, he stretched himself over Angelica and began to cut at the ropes on her wrists, his face just inches from hers as he vigorously sawed. He switched hands to maintain the force of the cut, then switched again, and saw quickening progress as he reached the soft core of the rope, and the fibers parted with relative ease.

  “As soon as we finish, you roll over and we’ll climb down under the pier,” Marco breathed to Angelica. “There’s a hiding place down there that should be safe.”

  “Can’t you get us off the pier, up to the castle or someplace safe?” Angelica whispered back.

  Marco felt the last fibers part; and the sorcerer was turned away still. He backed away from the girl and towards the edge of the pier, so that his feet immediately hung over the edge.

  “Roll down here; follow me,” he said, as he dangled his feet down. He felt the servant girl grab them and guide them directly to the beam, making his descent easier. “Here! Quickly!” he urged Angelica. “Just roll!” he warned her as she started to rise up to a sitting position.