‘I’ve heard of Rui, but I’ve not seen his ship. We saw smoke coming from the last island back. Looked like it was coming from Martensport. We gave it a wide berth.’
Varrisher digested the information for a moment. ‘Thank you, Fair Kateryn, a safe voyage home to you!’
The man doffed his hat to Varrisher. Varrisher barked an order to his crew and without missing a beat they were swarming up into the rigging to get the Typhon back under way.
‘I know Martensport; we should be there not long after dawn. I’ll show you to the weapons locker so you can pick something out. We may have a fight on our hands when we arrive.’
Chapter 30
Martensport
Soren slept solidly through the night. He awoke to the noise of commotion on deck, and the feeling of the ship at rest. He picked up the two swords that he had chosen from the weapons locker and tested their balance in his hand. One was a rapier. It was a mass produced weapon, but the blade was well crafted, and he reckoned it would serve him well.
The other was a short, broad bladed sword similar to the one that he had been using since the jungle, but of far better manufacture. He decided to take it too. In the event of having to fight in the cramped conditions below decks the shorter weapon would be more effective.
He went up on deck where the crew were securing the ship for sitting at anchor. They were not far from the shoreline and the smouldering ruin of the town that had been called Martensport.
‘It wasn’t much before, just a collection point for the local farmers to drop off their produce to be picked up by passing traders. No more than a dozen or so buildings, fifty, sixty residents. We should go ashore, see if there are any survivors. Maybe they can tell us if it actually was Rui who called here,’ Varrisher said.
From the look of it, Soren doubted there would be anything worth finding, but disagreeing with Varrisher in front of his crew didn’t seem like a smart thing to do.
The crew lowered the jolly boat into the water and Soren, Varrisher and two sailors got on board. They were not concerned about having a fight; there was no sign of Rui’s ship and they didn’t expect to find him or any of his men still there, if indeed it had been him that burned the town.
The sailors rowed them to the jetty, which appeared to be the only thing not touched by the fire. They disembarked, Soren being careful not to make a spectacle of himself, and made their way to the remains of the small town. There was very little left; every building had been put to fire, and few of them were made from brick.
‘Have a look around,’ Varrisher said to the two sailors. He turned to Soren. ‘I don’t expect we’ll find anything, but you never know. We might as well have a bit of a poke around and then get back to the ship. If Rui stopped here then he’ll have lost some of his lead on us, but there’s no point in squandering any gains we might have made.’
Soren nodded and began walking toward one side of the town, looking into each of the still smouldering ash piles that were all that remained of the buildings. They had only been burned a few hours before. If it was Rui who attacked the town, everything of value that he could carry would have been taken, and anything else would have been burned. Including the corpses. He had not seen any, but like as not they were under the piles of ash that would have been their homes or places of work. It reminded him of the savagery of a barbarian attack he had seen several years before. There seemed little sense in all of that destruction.
‘Captain,’ one of the sailors called out. He was kicking through the ash on the other side of the town. Soren looked in his direction. A group of horsemen watched them from the tree line behind the village. There were about twenty of them. They might take it into their heads that Soren, Varrisher and the two sailors were the pirates who had destroyed the town and slaughtered its inhabitants.
‘Ho there, friend,’ Varrisher called, raising a hand in greeting and stepping toward them.
It was a risky move, but given the circumstances there weren’t many options available to him. If the men chose to attack, they would most likely kill Varrisher and his two men before Soren could get close enough to help.
‘Stay where you are!’ came the response. It had the accent of a Ventishman, which was unsurprising as the island was a colony of Venter. ‘Who are you and what’s your business here?’
‘I’m Captain Varrisher of the Typhon. I’m chasing a pirate and we wanted to investigate,’ he shouted back, having stopped in his tracks as commanded.
The riders remained silent for a moment before three of them rode forward. As innocuously as possible, Soren started walking slowly toward Varrisher. The riders moved cautiously, but they didn’t appear hostile.
‘You will find nothing of interest. All of the survivors have been removed to safety and all that remains here is ash,’ said the rider in the centre of the three. ‘I am Captain Avert Hayck of the Carellen militia. We saw your ship sail into the bay and came down to investigate.’
He looked tall, although on horseback it was difficult to tell. He wore a military style tunic that looked at least one size too small — the same as the other two men with him, although theirs were too large — and he had a ruddy face topped with a mop of sweaty, straw coloured hair.
‘How long ago was the attack?’ Varrisher said.
‘Yesterday, late in the afternoon and they were gone before dark. They were sailing out of the bay by the time we got here,’ Captain Hayck said.
‘Do you’ve any idea of where they were headed?’ Varrisher said.
Captain Hayck looked at one of his companions and then back to Varrisher. ‘The Commissioner’s plantation isn’t far from here. The survivors are there. They might be able to tell you more.’
Soren joined Varrisher. He made sure to keep his hand away from the hilt of his sword. Varrisher was obviously uncomfortable with the notion of going with them. It had been their intention to get back to sea as quickly as possible and there was still no reason to trust the bona fides of the horsemen. Settlers got funny notions after they or their ilk were attacked, and sometimes any stranger they could lay their hands on would serve for their version of justice. Soren had seen it before in the plains to the east of Ostia and had no desire to find himself on the receiving end of that type of anger-fuelled justice.
Varrisher looked to Soren who shrugged his shoulders. There was no way to tell if these men intended to do them harm, but with their greater numbers it would have been as easy for them to do it there rather than luring them into the jungle. They might find out something useful from the survivors of the attack.
‘Very well,’ Varrisher said. ‘We’ll come with you to the plantation.’
‘We have no extra horses, so you’ll have to walk. It’s not that far, just out of sight beyond the promontory at the end of the bay,’ Captain Hayck said, gesturing.
‘First I need to send word back to my ship to let them know what we’re doing,’ Varrisher said.
Captain Hayck nodded. ‘We’ll wait for you by the trees.’
Varrisher called over the other two sailors and talked with them for a moment before they headed in the direction of the jolly boat, and Varrisher returned his attention to Soren.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think it’s worth the risk.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Varrisher said. ‘I’m not sure we have any choice anyway. I suppose we’d best be getting on after them then.’
They walked over to the waiting riders who moved off at a trot when Varrisher and Soren reached them.
It took less than an hour to reach the plantation house, which sat on top of the promontory that Hayck had pointed out to them from the ruins of Martensport. It was a fine, stone building, with a white gravel driveway and was surrounded with lush green bushes covered with purple flowers.
The sound of the twenty horsemen on the gravel driveway attracted some attention and several people appeared from the gabled portico. Two were armed, two were servants or perhap
s slaves, and one, with a thick moustache and slicked back, grey hair, was finely dressed, probably the master of the house.
‘Captain, what do you have to report?’ the finely dressed man said.
‘It doesn’t seem to have been a pirate ship, Excellency,’ Captain Hayck said. ‘I’ve brought her master to speak with you.’
At this cue, Varrisher stepped forward. ‘Master Mariner of the Grey, Captain Rodolfo Varrisher. To whom do I have the honour of speaking?’ he said, formally.
‘Baron Pitir dal Froyt,’ the finely dressed man said, ‘Commissioner of Martensport. I was not aware gentlemen of the grey still existed.’
‘Well, that’s a matter of opinion,’ Varrisher said, ‘but it’s not relevant to the matter at hand.’ He said it politely, but there was an edge to his voice.
‘Perhaps you might tell me what is of relevance to your being on Carellen then. But not here, it’s getting unpleasantly warm. We can discuss it inside,’ dal Froyt said.
Without waiting for an answer he turned on his heel and disappeared into the shade of the portico, followed closely by the two armed men. One of the men that Soren had taken for a servant or slave rushed forward and beckoned for them to follow. The other assisted Captain Hayck as he dismounted. The three of them followed the servant into the house.
Soren felt oddly self-conscious about his dusty shoes and sailing slops as they walked through the immaculately clean house. He regretted he had not had the chance to change into the shore-going clothes he had bought and realised how far he had come from the youth who had judged clothes by how warm they would keep him in winter. It was an odd feeling, but it proved the effects of an expensive education.
The servant led them through to a long room at the far side of the house. It was lined with large windows that provided a spectacular view of an ornamental garden and the sea beyond. The house was bright and airy, with a cool breeze passing through which was a pleasant change after the walk up to the house from the smoking ruin of Martensport. The Commissioner had sat down at a writing table in a comfortable looking chair that gave him full advantage of the view from the windows. There were no chairs for the others to sit, and no apology was made for the fact.
‘Now, tell me, Captain Varrisher, what is it that brings you to Carellen so soon after a pirate attack,’ Commissioner dal Froyt said. ‘Hoping to pick at the scraps left behind?’
‘Far from it. We got word that there was a lot of smoke coming from this island. I estimated that we were roughly twelve hours behind the pirate that we’re tracking, so it stood to reason that he might have been involved in the attack.’
‘You’re a pirate hunter? I assume you have documentation?’ the Commissioner said.
‘I do,’ Varrisher said. ‘Letters of marque to sail under the flag of Ruripathia and also the Bayda of Valkdorf.’
‘The Bayda of Valkdorf? Is that what Governor dal Sifridt is calling himself now?’ the Commissioner said, with a chuckle. ‘Perhaps I should take to calling myself something a little grander, eh, Hayck?’
Captain Hayck forced a smile but said nothing.
‘Well, as you say, Commissioner, the continued existence of Ruripathia as a sovereign state is a matter of conjecture now. He wanted to provide us with as much legitimate authority to carry out our task as he could,’ Varrisher said. ‘Time is something of an issue, Commissioner, so I would appreciate any information you might have on the attackers so we can be on our way.’
‘Do you have these letters on your person?’ the Commissioner said.
‘No, they’re on board my ship. I wasn’t expecting to need them considering the condition we found Martensport in,’ Varrisher said.
The Commissioner sighed and drummed his fingers on the writing desk. ‘Very well. Several of the survivors of the attack reported that they overheard the pirates talking about Caytown. They didn’t know any more than that, but I would venture that with Caytown’s reputation, it’s not unreasonable to assume that it is the next destination of the savages that burned the town. From the descriptions given, I believe the pirate that attacked us was Sancho Rui, who I presume is the man you are pursuing.’
Varrisher nodded.
‘I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you that might be of assistance. The attack was particularly well timed. Martensport was the collection point from which all of the spice and sugar grown on this side of the island was brought for shipment north. This season’s harvest was collected only two days ago, and there was a considerable amount of gold in storage there awaiting division among the plantation owners.
‘I’m very eager that Sancho Rui be brought to a swift and painful end and have already sent letters to the Governor of Carellen to issue warrants for Rui’s arrest.’ There was venom in the Commissioner’s voice.
‘Thank you for your help, Commissioner,’ Varrisher said, ‘I would ask your leave to continue our pursuit.’
Chapter 31
The Pursuit
Having never been involved in a naval pursuit, Soren was amazed by the unrelenting pace that Varrisher kept up. He’d slept only for an hour or two at a time since they had been at sea. Every time that Soren had gone on deck, Varrisher had been there, conferring with whoever was at the wheel, usually Rodin, or was helming the Typhon himself. He derived a manic energy from driving his ship on and eking every ounce of speed out of her that he could. He was never satisfied, and constantly called for minor alterations to the trim of the sails. Soren wondered how the crew tolerated the constant hectoring; no sooner had they made one change than another was called for. They did it though, without grumble or complaint.
The Typhon raised anchor no more than three hours after it had been dropped and once again she leaned into the breeze and pressed on like the thoroughbred she was. Varrisher had referred to the rutters he had been given to plot a course to Caytown. They were farther west than he had hitherto been in the Spice Isles, and he approached the matter of sailing in unknown waters with intense concentration. The town was on an island a little more than two days’ sail away, but it was through waters that the rutters indicated were heavily populated with small islands. It was not so much the islands that were of concern to Varrisher as the shoals, sandbars and reefs lurking out of sight below the surface that were also common features.
Nonetheless, Soren was once again surplus to requirements, so he retired to the stateroom. The fatigue of the past few weeks still weighed heavily on him, and combined with the regular motion of the ship and the comfortable couch, he quickly slipped into a light, dozing sleep that was full of vivid dreams.
He dreamt that Alessandra was calling him, but it was dark and he couldn’t find her. He was in a state of panic as he tried to work out where her voice was coming from, but each time he started to run in one direction her voice would come from somewhere else.
She screamed and he jolted awake, but the sound was still there. As the cloud of sleep departed he realised that the sound was an insidious screeching, grinding noise that reverberated through the timbers of the hull. It was dark outside, so he had been asleep for several hours. Soren wanted nothing more than to curl up and try to shake the sensations that he had been left with from his head, but something was going on and he couldn’t ignore it.
Varrisher stumbled from his small sleeping compartment on the port side of the stateroom, doing up his doublet with the clumsiness of one who has just been pulled abruptly from a deep sleep.
‘What’s going on?’ Soren said.
‘Dunno,’ Varrisher grunted, ‘but it doesn’t sound healthy.’
Soren followed him up the three steps out the doorway that led onto the main deck, before turning and ascending the final steps up onto the quarterdeck where the wheel was. Rodin was at the wheel with a grim expression on his face.
‘What’s happened?’ Varrisher said.
‘We touched bottom. A reef by the sounds of it, but we’re sailin’ free now,’ Rodin said. He was usually a cheerful man, but his face bore no trace of go
od humour now.
Varrisher rubbed his face with both hands. ‘All right, get some men down below to inspect for damage.’
‘Already done, Captain,’ Rodin said.
‘I feared something like this would happen. We’ve been pushing on too bloody hard in unknown waters, when the one thing we did know was that the area is cluttered with sandbanks and reefs. It’s lucky we didn’t hit whatever it was at low water, otherwise we might still be stuck on the bloody thing.’
Soren didn’t think he had ever heard Varrisher swear before, and part of him was curious to see how he acted now that things were not going his way. Would the Varrisher he had known in Ruripathia resurface?
A sound all too familiar to Soren disturbed the night’s peace as the clanking sound of a ship’s pump began to rattle across the deck. It sent a shiver down his spine as he thought of the night and day struggle to save the Honest Christophe.
‘Well, that answers the question of if we’ve been holed,’ Varrisher said. He went forward as two men came up the companionway steps, the opening of which was between the fore and main masts. They conferred for a moment before Varrisher came back up onto the quarterdeck.
‘We’ve sprung a couple of planks,’ he said.
Soren noted that Varrisher did not sound particularly concerned, but his own face must have betrayed that he was.
‘It’s a pretty common occurrence for ice runners, so there’s no need to be too worried. I’ve dealt with worse before and lived to tell the tale.’
He still seemed remarkably calm, if anything revelling in the situation. Soren began to wonder if he was slightly cracked; too many years at sea, too little sleep. Whatever the reason, Soren didn’t see how a large hole in the bottom of the boat was nothing to get too concerned about.
Varrisher could see that Soren wasn’t convinced, so he elaborated. ‘The ship’s hull is specially designed to cope with being holed and still remain afloat. Typhon also has two sets of pumps, one of which would be more than enough to service an oceanman, so we’re not likely to have a problem clearing any water we take on. The problem that we do have is a great bloody hole in the hull slows us down considerably, and best counsel is to avoid pootling about too much when you have one. I’m afraid we’re going to have to beach her to repair the damage as soon as we can.’
The Huntsman's Amulet (Society of the Sword Volume 2) Page 15
