“What about the Jiktar Taranto?”
“I’ll deal with him. If you and your lads agree to take Dovad Daisy down south, then down south we’ll go. Dernun?”
“Quidang!”
Then he added. “And we won’t scuttle off like a whipped rark, jis! No, by Havil the Green! We’ll see what we’ll do.”
“What we can do for Paz.”
“Aye, jis.”
About this time I began to feel that I needed to catch up on all the sleep I’d been missing. You can drive the body so far — and if you’ve been educated in the navy of Nelson’s day, then you can drive yourself well past any sane limits — but in the end nature catches up. The confrontation with Taranto and this Naghan and Taranta must come right away or be left until morning. I said: “How long will it take you to sound out the hands?”
“Two burs, three at the most.”
“Then I’ll come with you. Otherwise we’ll all be asleep.”
We made the rounds. I repeated the words I’d used on Sternum, pointing out our duty to Paz, that everything was not lost, and in the end coming down to the simple task of taking me to find my friends. You may well believe I promised rewards. I’d have given the kingdom to find Delia. I promised enough gold to keep them happy, and the odd thing was, because of the reputation I’d acquired through the lurid books and plays about Dray Prescot, they believed absolutely in my word.
When all was ready we went up to the quarterdeck.
Taranto and Taranta were astounded to see me.
Nath ham Homath had been carted off unconscious to have his ribs and wrist attended to. I’d been completely missed in the shadows, with Sternum to assist me.
This Naghan ham Newsat, Strom of Livhavil, said in his assured tones: “Who is this fellow, then? Who gave him leave to come onto the quarterdeck?” And, to me: “Clear off, yetch, before I call the marines!”
I stepped forward from Sternum. The quarterdeck was well-lighted by the Maiden with the Many Smiles and the bunch of nobles stood erect like cut flowers in a vase. Naghan drew his sword.
I said: “You can put your sword away, strom.” I turned to Taranto. “We are sailing south, Jiktar. Will you give the order, or shall I?”
He gobbled at that. “But we have been defeated! The Shanks!”
He would have gone on; but I silenced him.
“We have had a setback. Nothing more. Hurry up, Jiktar. Every moment you delay carries us further away from Tarankar.”
“Tarankar!” shouted Strom Naghan. “Ho, guards! Clear this fellow away! Clap him in irons!”
There was no sign of guards or of irons.
Taranto, nervous now, spluttered out: “But, majister! Tarankar — that is a death trap now.”
Strom Naghan caught that majister. He fixed me with a jowly look.
“Majister? Majister? You are Dray Prescot?” The sword in his hand trembled. It switched down into line. “I ought to chop you here and now, by Clem, here and now!”
The Krozair brand whipped free, it described a graceful evolution and Strom Naghan’s thraxter flew up into the air, buried its point in the deck ten paces off and quivered like a tuning fork.
I put the point of the longsword against the fancy gold lacework collar. I said: “Jiktar Taranto. Give the order to turn this vessel to the south. This strom has no authority here.”
Taranta let out a distressed little squeak and I suppose I felt a twinge of pity for her at seeing her affianced with a brutal longsword digging into his throat. Strom Naghan, for his part, had sense enough not to move a muscle. Taranto spluttered some more, then in his metallic voice snapped out: “Very well, majister. By Flem, it suits me ill, though.” He turned to see Sternum close by. “Steer southerly, curse you!” he snarled out. Not, I considered, a seemly way to address your First Lieutenant.
The helmsman turned Dovad Daisy under the stars. Those constellations which had grown familiar to me since I’d first arrived in Loh revolved and we were heading south.
The longsword revolved itself and snicked back into the scabbard.
Strom Naghan let out a breath. Then he said: “We should have destroyed you when we had the chance. When you were dragged at the tail of a calsany through Ruathytu.”
“You were there too, were you, strom.”
“Aye! By Flem, I was there, and I joyed in every heartbeat of it!”
“That is all over now, strom. Now we fight Shanks.”
“I fight Schtarkins well enough. But you have flipped my sword away. I cannot fight without a sword.”
“Take your thraxter, strom, and fight Shanks. For if you cross me again you will fight nobody thereafter.”
So, on that idiotic boast, the affair was concluded.
This had been one of the quickest and most peaceful mutinies I’d ever been involved in, by Vox. We fled southwards under the stars of Kregen. Delia! She was all that really mattered now.
Chapter seventeen
Was this somewhat pathetic little mutiny one of the earliest examples of the power of an Emperor of Paz? I surmised that perhaps the idea of Paz could be projected to receptive minds. It had been in the past in a vague fashion. As the word spread, more and more like-minded people would take up the cause. If they didn’t, they’d be doomed. The Shanks would see to that.
In this fabulous world of Kregen very often what the heart desires is achieved, and very often not, and it is what is done with the achievement that counts and the reaction to disappointment that matters.
We saw no signs of any other ships, either friendly or hostile, as we sped south. Sternum set watches; they saw nothing of Shank or survivor. There were good chances that some of the Hamalese had escaped as had Dovad Daisy. To destroy an entire fleet remains a difficult task and one very seldom ever accomplished, even in the greatest of sea victories.
I managed to catch a few winks of sleep, enough to keep me going, and stoked up the inner man. Along towards dawn Sternum, who, although not appearing to do so, must have had some sleep, came up looking grim. His jaw was set just so. He spread hairy hands in a gesture of utter disgust.
“Hai, Sternum, have you lost a zorca and found a calsany?”
“That Rangicha.” He breathed in and out a few times, blowing his whiskers. “I’ve never understood why some folk of good breeding act like they do when they needn’t. Young cadet Nalgre ti Mornlad told me. A smart lad. Going to be admiral of the fleet one day, if he survives.”
“Sternum,” I said, and he stopped speaking. “Told you what?”
“Oh — uh — yes, jis. This noble lady is trying to buy someone of the crew, anyone, to assassinate you.”
“I suppose her fancy man Strom Naghan doesn’t fancy his chances.”
Sternum laughed. We were up in the bows, waiting for the dawn, and I still had a handful of palines to munch.
“All the same, jis, by Krun, it is a serious matter.”
“I suppose so. I’ll have a word with her.”
Then Sternum surprised me again. He shifted his bulk about, for he had grown enormously from the stripling I’d known back in Ruathytu. He more blurted out than spoke coherently. “Jis. I have read the stories and seen the plays now they are freely available in Hamal after the censorship. What I would most like—”
I held up a hand. “If you have read, then you know the difficulty of taking very many folk on adventures.”
“Oh, yes, jis, that I understand. No. What I would most like to do is join your Guard Corps. As a Hamalese, would that be possible for me?” His face screwed up into a hairy whirlpool.
As I say, he surprised me.
I thought for a moment. Then I said: “I don’t see why not. Mind you, Sternum, I don’t run the Guard. They’re a damned independent lot and make up their own rules and regulations—”
“Which you have to ratify!”
“Sometimes I stop ’em doing something, that is true. Not often.”
“Well—?”
“I’ll have a word with one or two of my
lads at the first opportunity.”
“Thank you, jis, may Havil the Green smile on you.”
“Um,” I said.
After Sternum had taken himself off, mightily pleased, I decided on a course of action which did not please me but which I fancied might do the business quickly and cleanly. One of the crew approached by the Rangicha, a varterist hight Hoban the Brows, was sent to me by Sternum.
He stood uneasily as the Suns of Scorpio came up and flooded the world with their mingled streaming lights. His eyebrows were, indeed, of a profusion. “Hoban,” I said, speaking easily. “Do you believe in Paz?”
He didn’t rattle back a quick reply. He shifted on his bare feet again, looking at the deck between his toes. “Well, majister—”
“It is a simple question. It does not have a simple answer. I know you want to go home to Hamal. We all want to go home, by Krun! But we can’t really run off home and leave the Shanks to smash everything up here, now can we?”
“I suppose not.”
“You suppose correctly. Fighting against the Shanks and for all of Paz — including Hamal — means you believe in Paz.”
“Yes, majister.”
“Even if you’re fighting for some folk who are not Hamalese.”
“Yes, majister.”
“Because we are all of Paz.”
“Yes—”
“So when do you think you will assassinate me, Hoban?”
He shook all over. He couldn’t lift his head to look me in the eye. A dribble of spittle trickled down his slanted chin.
“All right, Hoban. I am going to assume you never intended to assassinate me at the pleasure of Rangicha Taranta.”
“No, no, majister!” He was spluttering and blubbering. “No, for I told the lady I would not! I said ask someone else!”
“Come with me.” I started off down the deck.
Sternum was waiting with a small party, all heavily armed. With myself at their head and Hoban the Brows in the centre, we marched to the aftercastle where Jiktar Rango Taranto had quartered his sister. I knocked on the door and then, without waiting for a reply, pushed it open and barged into the cabin.
She was half-dressed and at once she snatched up a robe and held it to herself. Her Khibil face flooded painfully with blood. A man’s voice from further back behind the bed curtains said: “What is it, by Glem?”
“Leave my cabin at once!” she said. Her chin lifted. She pointed and then grabbed for the slipping robe. “How dare you! My brother—”
“You are being placed under arrest for plotting to murder the Emperor of Paz. Can you say anything in your defense?”
“Arrest? Murder? What nonsense!” But her breathing gusted unsteadily, and she put out a hand to steady herself, ignoring the robe.
“You will be placed in the cells until a court is assembled.”
“You cannot! I am a Rangicha — my brother is the Rango!”
“There are many more important nobles than you or your brother where you are going. A court can be formed.” I spoke briskly. “Of course, I can always pass judgment on you myself. That is something that emperors can do. I shall find you guilty of attempting to murder the emperor.” I lifted my hand. “As for your punishment, I suppose the easiest way will be to throw you overboard. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”
She was panting now, half-crouched, her face and hair wild.
Strom Naghan appeared from beyond the bed curtain. He’d used the time to dress himself, more or less, and now he stalked forward ready to add all his habitual authority. I stopped him dead in his tracks.
“Hand over your sword, strom. You are an accomplice in this and equally guilty with the lady. You will suffer the same fate. I did warn you.”
His dark foxy face clouded into a thunderhead. Some Khibils have this dark hair; some, like my kregoinye comrade Pompino, tend to the auburn, red or ginger. He looked now as savage as a wild animal about to spring. His fist gripped his sword hilt.
I held out my hand. “Well, strom? Or do you wish to die here and now?”
What effort it cost him to unbuckle the sword belt and hurl it down on deck between us I couldn’t know. It must have hurt.
“Also,” I said, going on remorselessly with the business, for I wanted to end it as quickly as possible. “It is quite clear that Rango Taranto was in league with the would-be murderers. He must be taken up at once.” I half turned. “Jiktar Sternum Hamparz! You are now in command. Take up the treacherous Rango and clap the three conspirators in irons. Dernun?”
After a single gulp, he was himself. He roared it out, joyfully.
“Quidang, Majister!”
The sorry affair was thus far concluded. Three highly indignant and upset nobles — not to say frightened nobles — were clapped in irons. A smooth-faced, light-haired lad dressed as a cadet stood nervously by the door as I went out. I gave him a look.
“Cadet Nalgre ti Mornlad?”
“Yes, majister — I mean, aye aye, majister.”
“You did well, cadet. I shall not forget.”
He flushed up at this. “Thank you, majister.” Then, unable to hold back, he burst out: “Will you really throw them overboard?”
“Of course not! What an idea! No, no, Nalgre, they have to learn their lesson. We are about the business of fighting Shanks, and we need everyone we can.”
“So you’ll let them off, majister?”
“I certainly do not intend to have them executed. No, they’ll be a little frightened, learn their lesson, and then they’ll have to behave.”
He looked up at me, clear-eyed. “They have not treated me well, they have abused me. But it is not for that I speak.”
“Speak what?”
His smooth young face expressed perfect innocence. He said: “They say that with age comes wisdom. If it were me, I know they will continue to try to harm me. They will continue to hate you, majister, and try to kill you. I’d execute the three of them.”
I stared at him, at that frail young face, and marveled. Of course, he spoke the way of wisdom common to kings and emperors. Of course. Once a man or woman has betrayed you, you can never trust them again. To be on the safe side, it is better to put them out of the way permanently. Maybe, after all, I was no good as an emperor.
Cadet Nalgre ti Mornlad’s fresh young face abruptly went as blank as that of a codfish. His forehead glistened and his eyes dulled and then, shockingly, opened to their full width and glared upon me.
“Jak!” he said in a febrile voice. “It is Highly Difficult. There is Not Much Time Left.”
“Go on, Deb Lu.”
“This great devil Carazaar has the planes sealed. Difficult. Delia has gone to Taran—” The voice faltered and Nalgre swayed as though about to fall. I grasped his arm and stared into his eyes. His lips moved sluggishly. “The fleet—”
Nalgre moved in my grip and said: “Majister?”
“It is all right, Nalgre.”
“But—”
“Quite. I thank you for your advice. Now go about your duties.”
“Quidang, majister!”
He went off, somewhat puzzled, I fear, at the sudden lapse in his memory and concentration. He promised well, as Sternum had prophesied.
‘Taran’, Deb-Lu-Quienyin had said. That had to mean Tarankar. It was not likely to be Taranik. I frowned. It might be Taranjin, and in that case it meant Delia and my friends were running their heads into the leem’s jaws.
It was easy enough to guess that Deb-Lu had managed to get the news of my rescue through to Delia. Now she was pushing ahead with the plan, confident I’d soon join her.
Deb-Lu had also said ‘the fleet.’ As far as I could see, he could only mean the fleet from Vallia if he spoke of our forces. If he spoke of the enemy — well, they probably must have more than one fleet operating over Loh.
A twinned shadow fleeted across the deck and I looked up, squinting against the blaze of the Suns.
I expected to see the shape of the raptor from the Star
Lords, the Gdoinye, circling up there ready to hurl down mockery and contempt upon my head, calling me a get onker, chastising me in the name of the Everoinye. It was not so.
Up there, planing in gentle circles, sailed the white dove of the Savanti.
I felt surprise rush all through me.
Why should those mortal but superhuman folk of Aphrasöe the Swinging City send their dove to spy on me? They might be taking a fresh hand in the game. I gravely doubted that they were. But if they were, by the disgusting diseased liver and lights of Makki Grodno, what were they up to now?
Chapter eighteen
“Despite all the difficulties, Deb-Lu is managing to maintain communications. We are in contact, even if tenuously.”
“Highly tenuously, my old dom.”
“But still in contact,” said Delia, firmly, in her no-nonsense voice.
“We’re all here,” observed Inch.
“All!” I said, grumpily. “All!”
Well, I was being unfair. As we sat in the cabin of Shankjid deciding what to do next — although we all knew that well enough — about us rested the vorlcas of my Guard Corps. The lads, at least, were all here.
Maintaining her previous thought, Milsi said: “I do wish we had the fliers with us.” She drew in a breath. “Those poor people of Hamal—”
“We may not have heard the last of them.” Seg spoke with an abrupt shake of his shoulders, as though shaking off rain. We all looked sharply at him. In his native hills and valleys of Erthyrdrin they breed fey folk, folk with the Eye. Nobody spoke for a moment or two.
Then Sasha said: “Inch, dear. Surely we can get some warriors from Ng’groga to help?”
“Since I left home I have very little influence in Ng’groga, if any at all. It’s the same with Seg. We’re Vallians now.”
“Aye, by the Veiled Froyvil. Vallians and Pazzians.”
“Or Pazish,” I said in a neutral voice.
“Or,” said Delia in her cutting voice, “Pazese.”
“Oh. Quite.”
Scorpio Ablaze Page 15
