Vespera

by Anselm Audley

  He turned the telescope on the one other large ship in port. Square-rigged, its rounded hull black, built slightly higher than it should perhaps have been. A little bigger than Navigator, perhaps, but almost certainly rough-built in the yard of one of the two northern states with enough people and trees to build such ships.

  They’d be lucky to make a profit here, if she was a trader. But then, a ship built for arctic waters like that would be bringing goods from further north, furs and amber and metals from Thure. Not competition.

  He handed the telescope to Daena and saw her eyes widen as she took the scene in. ‘Something’s changed up here.’

  ‘Be on your guard,’ Odeinath said. ‘Those numbskulls on Windsoar didn’t pick up that something was going on, we’ll have to do their work as well as ours. Just hope Prince Besach has an ulcer or a broken arm to heal.’

  They were close enough to Lamorra now to see the people leaning out of windows to stare or wave, more gathering in the harbour to be the first to welcome a new ship. There were two Xelestis ships which regularly visited Lamorra, according to Windsoar, but it was a while since the last one would have been by.

  ‘Daena,’ Odeinath said, after a moment’s thought, ‘let’s not let on that we have aether capability. Bring out the disguise for the table and make sure the generator and the conduits are well-hidden. We don’t want to give our hosts any ideas.’

  ‘This will be an interesting visit,’ said Daena brightly, as she went astern.

  By the time they stopped outside the mouth of the harbour, waiting for a boat to guide them in, all trace that Navigator had any unusual capabilities had been concealed. The Lamorrans could hardly fail to notice her odd construction, but it could be explained away as an experiment.

  The boat came out, manned by eight oarsmen who from their technique were hardly experts at this, and after some argument between Navigator’s bosun and the men in the boat, a line was passed and Navigator was pulled into the cothon. The stonework looked new, perhaps only five or ten years at the outside, though the workmanship could have been better.

  He studied the arctic trader as much as he dared, waved to the two or three men standing on deck, but didn’t discover anything more. The hull was pitched, hence the colour, but that was standard for operation in these waters, and she had quite a large cabin capacity from the look of the thick glass portholes at regular intervals. That was a little odd, but maybe travel between the northern states had picked up since his last visit.

  By the time they’d moored, to metal bollards – metal! Did these people know what they were sitting on? – opposite the arctic trader, there was quite a crowd on the quay, and more people pouring out of the gate. The harbour had its own little walled district outside the main town, with a road running through it to the outer gate and what was either a causeway or a bridge linking it with the mainland. A defensible position, against rebellions or the pitiful fleet of a neighbouring princedom, and by the standards of the far north a prosperous town.

  The people looked so drab, though! Their clothes were all browns, blacks, dirty grey, with here or there a russet or a dark green only distinguishable from brown in the sunlight. Even with cold-water clothes on, his crew looked every bit flamboyant enough to be Xelestis, their costumes an often jarring mix of bright red, orange, turquoise, blue. He ran through their cargo in his head – they had a couple of bales of cheap tropical cloth which might go down well here, but more than likely the wearing of bright colours was only for the aristocracy.

  As Navigator’s sailors manoeuvred the gangplank into position, he caught sight of a flash of brighter colour as another man walked out of the gate, accompanied by two soldiers. The crowd parted to make way for him, so he would be the prince’s chamberlain or harbourmaster or some such, come to invite them to the palace.

  ‘Cassini, stay a safe distance behind me and assume that they’re all terribly polite. We’ll keep you with us,’ Odeinath said. ‘Daena, Granius, Tilao, with me.’

  Tilao looked so miserable when they were in the north, but what Odeinath knew to be misery the Lamorrans would take as a threatening scowl. And a threatening scowl from a huge, muscular Southern Archipelagan islander would be useful to have at his back, to counterbalance Cassini and Granius, the diminutive trading master.

  Odeinath reached the bottom of the gangplank just as the official stopped.

  ‘On behalf of Prince Besach, I welcome you to Lamorra,’ the man said, a trifle pompously. ‘I am Ambiorix son of Brennus, Chamberlain of the Palace and Tribune of the Royal Guard.’ He was a bit overblown for a warrior, but certainly had the size and the physique, and a strong face. Odeinath could see his eyes flickering over them, assessing their strength.

  ‘Captain Odeinath Sabal, of Clan Xelestis and the ship Navigator,’ Odeinath replied, then went on to introduce his officers. Cassini was officially the ship’s cartographer, although in the last two years much of his work had been done by one of the new recruits who was obsessive about maps, but had loathed the idea of joining the Oceanographic Guild with its politics and traditions. Cassini had been quite happy to be left alone with his plants and specimens. ‘We bring trade goods from the south, and gifts for your prince, and ask permission to trade in your market.’

  ‘You may make your request of the Prince himself,’ Ambiorix said. ‘If you would accompany me up to the palace?’

  His Archipelagan was very polished, unusually so. That he spoke Archipelagan at all was unusual, as was the invitation. Both would have been unexpected if he hadn’t already been warned by Windsoar’s captain, but the Xelestis practice of writing down everything one found out about each landfall and trading stop to exchange with other ships was worth its weight in gold.

  ‘I would be honoured,’ Odeinath said.

  That was enough formality, evidently, and they headed off along the quayside, through the crowd of curious Lamorrans, and under the arched gate – again, unusual masonry work – into Lamorra itself.

  The town was much as he’d expected, poky houses with no courtyards crowded together, slate roofs. The stone was an unusual reddish-brown colour which prevented the town from looking too bleak, as did the occasional tree white with blossom, but there was a foetid smell in the air from the open drain in the centre of the street. Thetian pretences – Tribune of the Royal Guard indeed – had obviously made it here, but not Thetian fastidiousness if the inhabitants’ appearance was anything to go by.

  The street led up a low rise into the centre of the island, and then past a small stone temple to the palace beyond. Who was the temple dedicated to? It didn’t look like a temple to Thetis, and it was unlikely to be an Amadean shrine this far north, they hadn’t had time to spread much beyond Thetia and Qalathar from their holy city of Ilthys. Not that being a young religion had stopped them having a schism already, but then that was hardly surprising.

  He asked Ambiorix, in the most diplomatic way possible, who the temple was dedicated to.

  ‘To the Astreai, of course,’ Ambiorix replied. ‘The true guardians of the north.’

  Odeinath blinked, but recovering quickly. So the old star-worship was spreading again? He wasn't really surprised, but he’d always thought of it as a dead religion. Would the priest be open-minded enough to tell him about it without demanding obedience? That had been the Domain’s forte, the Tuonetar had never particularly gone in for religious intolerance.

  Palace was perhaps the wrong word for Besach’s residence, fortress would have been better. It was set against the walls on the north-east side, its lower storey windowless and built of very large stones set together in a chaotic fashion, the upper storeys not much better. Plunder from the ruins, he guessed, and at the top of the steps he saw part of a pediment built into the wall, a fragment of a column.

  The inside was more civilized than he’d expected, but there was something odd about it, something out of place. He still couldn’t work it out by the time they reached the second floor and the doors of the hall.

>   It wasn't a formal audience, which was one good thing. Prince Besach was standing at the far end of the hall, below the dais with his carved throne, in conversation with two men, neither of whom was wearing armour or carrying a sword. Cassini would be pleased.

  Odeinath’s inner architect couldn’t help noticing that the throne hall, though well-proportioned with a cleverly worked roof of carved wood, might have been much more impressive if it hadn’t been built facing northeast. With no sunlight and not enough windows to compensate, the reddish-brown stones were dark and cold.

  Besach at first sight appeared everything Odeinath had feared he would be – a big man, blond and blue-eyed with a reaver’s beard. He turned as Ambiorix announced them, and Odeinath saw with a flash of amusement the taller of his companions’ hands go to his waist, to rest on the pommel of a non-existent sword. The second man, dressed entirely in black, was a different proposition.

  Odeinath advanced until he was standing in front of the Prince, and bowed as if he were greeting a Thalassarch. Which was probably giving Lamorra more than its share of importance, because there were Thalassarchs who could have bought or sold Lamorra without really noticing it.

  ‘Welcome to Lamorra, Captain Odeinath,’ Besach said, in fairly good Thetian.

  ‘I am honoured,’ Odeinath said, returning to his native language without a second thought. He presented the gift he’d been advised to give, a dagger of Mons Ferratan make, fairly cheap in the Western Archipelago but almost unheard-of out here.

  ‘I’ve heard of the Mons Ferratan metalworkers, that they’re skilled beyond any others in the world,’ Besach said. ‘And that they are taller than your people, and their skins are so dark as to be black. I would like to invite one here, they seem a curious nation, but one my people could learn from.’

  ‘They like the cold but little, I’m afraid. There are normally two in my crew, but this time they asked to serve on another ship in the south until I return,’ said Odeinath, which was very much a diplomatic answer. An odd combination of ignorance and curiosity, the prince. And the thought of the Mons Ferratans being a strange and alien people, and that he’d never met any – this really was a different world.

  ‘Perhaps I shall be able to visit the south one day,’ Besach’s mouth twitched. ‘I’ve heard many things about your islands, and your cities, and I’d like to see if all of them are true. I heard stories from some of your kinsmen a few months ago, about how battles are fought, which seem remarkable.’

  Not so unusual, then, if his principal interest in Thetia was its art of war. And he’d missed the point of Clan Xelestis entirely, though Windsoar’s crew and previous Xelestis captains must have explained it again and again.

  ‘Now, are these your officers?’

  Odeinath introduced them, and Besach reciprocated by introducing his two companions. One was, as he’d suspected, the commander of Lamorra’s armies, with again, the Thetian title of Legate. At least, he thought, Besach wasn't so overblown as to have called him Marshal. There had only ever been one Marshal, and he’d been one too many.

  ‘And this is my adviser, Massilio.’

  Unlike the Legate, who’d put fist to heart, Massilio bowed, then met Odeinath’s gaze with the coldest pair of eyes he’d ever seen. Eyes that reminded Odeinath of the silent, haunted fifteen-year-old he’d virtually adopted in a little Thetian city strung out halfway to the Authin Reefs. Raphael had been almost dead inside when Odeinath found him, but there had been enough life left to revive his spirit. Massilio had had no such chance.

  Massilio was also a Thetian, or at least part Thetian. The right features, but his skin was too pale. There was no way he’d been born on Lamorra or anywhere nearby, and his black clothes looked almost like a uniform.

  There was a mystery here, and not one Odeinath was comfortable with. But this was a more interesting landfall than he’d expected, and if Besach was genuinely curious, the meal might be an occasion to look forward to rather than dread.

  ‘A pleasure,’ Massilio said. ‘Your ship is remarkable, Captain. I saw her as you approached, and I’ve never seen anything like her.’

  ‘She’s part organic,’ Odeinath said. ‘An experiment by one of the shipyards, to see if they could grow surface ships the way they grow mantas.’

  ‘An unsuccessful experiment?’

  ‘She took five years to grow. A wooden ship of the same size could be built in five days, if one had the resources.’

  ‘Shouldn’t she freeze to death in these waters?’ Besach asked. ‘Like your mantas?’

  ‘She’s not alive,’ Odeinath said. ‘It’s dead polyp, and the water doesn’t affect it.’

  Besach thought for a moment. ‘But isn’t the skin of a manta also dead?’

  Impressive knowledge, from a man who’d almost certainly never seen one. ‘The skin is dead, but only on top. The manta is still alive underneath, because otherwise the wings wouldn’t be able to move, and they’re the best way of propelling the manta.’

  ‘So in arctic waters, it’s the . . . wing muscles . . . that freeze first?’ Besach had had to think about it, but he’d still been able to say it in what was probably his third language. He was wasted on Lamorra.

  ‘Yes. They die in the cold, but they can regrow if you return to warmer water fast enough.’

  ‘But if they’re dead, you can’t move as fast, and so you can’t get back to warmer waters in time?’

  ‘Indeed. Your knowledge is impressive, Majesty,’ said Odeinath, and meant it. Besach smiled, not the false smile of a monarch but the smile of a man genuinely pleased by the compliment.

  ‘My thanks. Would you and your officers care to join me for dinner tonight? I’ll have arrangements made for you to begin trading in the morning, it’s too dark now.’

  ‘We’d be delighted to,’ Odeinath said, just as he finally realised what had been bothering him. There were no torch brackets, no guttering pitch torches such as he’d expected to light such a place, and the only things that looked like lights of any kind were the glass cylinders mounted on metal brackets around the wall.

  ‘Pardon me for asking, Majesty, but what are those?’

  Besach’s smile grew even wider. ‘I can surprise you too, it seems. You’ll see in a couple of hours.’

  Clan Xelestis had no official formal wear, so when Ambiorix came to collect them to take them back to the Palace two hours later, they looked no less like peacocks. More so, if anything, because for formal occasions one could wear clothes that were simply too impractical aboard ship, with lace or fantastic headpieces. Cassini had pleaded to be excused, and Odeinath would never have forced him attend something like this, so he told Ambiorix a partial lie about a senior officer needing to stay with the ship. Which was true, but it was the master-at-arms he left in charge. Cassini was only nominal, he’d be so busy with his books and experiments he wouldn’t notice if someone seized the ship and sailed off to Thure.

  It was a source of great pride to Odeinath that on his ship it didn’t matter. There would always be other misfits who could do what Cassini couldn’t.

  They drew more than their fair share of stares from Lamorrans on the way up through the streets, children shouting to each other in accented Ralentic to come and watch the offcomers all dressed up.

  Those cylinders were lights, Odeinath saw that as soon as they got inside the palace, to hear laughter echoing from the hall above. They gave off a white-yellow glow that flickered occasionally, but it couldn’t be aether, there was simply no way flamewood trees would grow up here. Unless there was an equivalent.

  The hall was far brighter than it had been in daylight, cylinders around the edge and two huge iron chandeliers, a roaring fire on the landward side. It looked like something out of a bad romance of the north, but unfortunately it was very real. Not quite as barbaric as he’d thought – Besach had obviously decided to teach his soldiers table manners, as there were no rushes on the floor and no animals – but still, why did the northern lords feel the need to
dine with their retainers every night?

  Odeinath and Daena hadd been placed at the table of honour, on either side of Besach. The Princess, Ambiorix explained, was recovering from childbirth and thus unable to attend tonight. Daena refrained from offering her help, because they’d discovered on previous occasions that anything birth-related was an area to stay out of. Local midwives were very touchy, and Daena’s experience was probably considerably less than theirs, as Thetian physicians of either sex were only ever called in to births if something went badly wrong.

  The food was brought in the moment Odeinath had sat down, between Besach and Massilio, and there was very little finesse to it: a great deal of meat and not much fish. Thankfully, Besach had decided to serve imported wine, for which all of them would be thankful except Tilao, whose people apparently drank a spirit so foul that after it all other alcohol tasted equally bland.

  ‘To Clan Xelestis,’ Besach said, raising his glass.

  ‘To Lamorra,’ replied Odeinath. It wasn't bad, for imported wine. ‘Now, would you tell me what these lights are?’

  It was hardly the way to address a prince in his own castle, but Besach didn’t seem to mind. It made sense. A man who ruled an entire island group, not insubstantial in sheer size even if it had no resources and a population who were little more than farmers, could never entirely relax with his subordinates, and given his tastes, Odeinath doubted the brotherhood of warriors would ever quite satisfy Besach. Anyone his equal – the lords of neighbouring states, for example – would be potential rivals, and so only outsiders who posed no threat could be considered companions. Massilio, wherever he came from, was one.

  And while the crews of the regular Xelestis ships might have the status of mere traders who came regularly once a year, Odeinath was an explorer and Windsoar’s captain was, not to put too fine a point on it, a pirate.