by Dave Duncan
A crisis arose near the end of Fair Voyage’s refit. The ambassador and his supporters were still living at the Queen Godleva, and had developed the custom of having a breakfast snack delivered to the guardroom each morning before venturing out. There we would discuss the day’s agenda, and I had something to ask before Dragon complained. Burl, I was sure, would not.
“My lord, this is the last day of the month. May I request that you issue us our stipend?” Whatever pittance that might be—I had never asked—Blades expect some pocket money in addition to room, board, and clothing.
“Ah, certainly, um Leader. Master Robins, pray issue Sir Burl and Sir Dragon three groats apiece, and four to Leader.”
So Dragon would be taking a pay cut since I bounced him. That would not boost morale much. “I will take the same as the others, my lord,” I said. “My life is worth no more than theirs.”
My reply was a filthy look; his lordship did not appreciate backtalk. “While we’re talking money, Master Robins, I do believe you could have the heavy cargo delivered now. You had better put it in my cabin for safety.”
The inquisitor nodded somewhat glumly. “Yes, m’lud.”
“I will be going shopping this morning um, Leader. I must purchase some precious trinkets, suitable for ladies. For political seduction, not personal—most of the time, anyway.” Chuckling at his own wit, Bannerville started to rise. Everyone else did so, except me.
“What is ‘heavy cargo’, my lord?”
“Gold!” Robins said, in a conspiratorial whisper. “A greasy metal, good for lubricating palms.”
Bannerville chuckled. “We estimate that it will need four strong men to carry it up the gangplank.” He turned as if to go.
“Then you are moving us all aboard today, sir?”
“Not yet. Four more days, Captain Silber says.” Then Chinless paused, either remembering that his Blades already knew that or seeing that their boy leader was shaking his head, as if planning to be difficult again. “You foresee a problem?”
“I don’t have enough men to guard both you and a chest full of gold, my lord, unless you are both in the same place.”
“Harrumph! Your task is to guard me, Leader. Captain Silber posts a watch every night.”
“And what will the king say, sir, if Captain Silber casts off and sails away with your heavy cargo while you are asleep ashore?” I wanted to add that we could not guard our ward against the headsman’s ax, but that was obvious.
Lord Bannerville paled and sat down again.
It might help to twist the knife a little more. “Also, I have learned by gossiping with the sailors and dock workers that Captain Silber is deeply in debt, in danger of losing his ship. I have noticed men ashore keeping watch on her, day and night. I assume they are waiting until the renovations are complete before they pounce.”
“Master Robins did mention this,” our ward said stiffly. “Our journey to Fitain is not unconnected with the troubles assailing men like Silber.”
“You need not worry over that, Sir Spender,” Robins interjected. “I have obtained a sheriff’s warrant forbidding any legal hindrance to our departure, and I trust that three Blades can discourage any illegal efforts to board her before we sail.”
Ignoring him, I said, “But why was I not informed about that? And certainly I should have been warned about the gold, my lord. We three are responsible for your safety. Silber is hiring a crew of around forty. Three Blades against forty sailors would be a very messy affair, and by no means a walkover. How many can we kill before we lack enough crew to sail the ship?”
Chinless pursed his lips angrily, but failed to look authoritative. “Just what are you proposing, um, Leader? I need that gold for my mission to Fitain.”
“Why gold, my lord? Several banks in Grandon could issue scrip that will be honoured by banks all over Eurania.”
“You are smart enough to understand that we are talking about bribe money here? We decided that gold would be much easier to handle when we get there. Letters of credit can be traced.”
Master Robins’s expression hinted that he had not been one of the “we” who decided.
I said, “It is getting it there that I am worried about, sir. Even smuggling that much dead weight aboard in small packets will not be easy. If the crewmen begin to suspect that they are carrying such a treasure, then the temptation to throw all of us overboard will be irresistible. Scrip would be easy to disguise, and worthless to them, because none of them can read. You could convert paper to gold when we reach Fitain.”
The earl shrugged as if such trivialities were beneath his notice. “Could you arrange enough letters of credit, Master Secretary?”
“Very easily, m’lud. As always, Sir Spender’s thinking is as sharp as his rapier. And his suggestion that you move us aboard right away is a good one, too. A few days’ dry run will show us what we have forgotten to bring. Plus, it saves money.”
“Then do it!” His lordship stood up and stalked over to his bedroom door, but he did pause before closing it behind him, just long enough to say, “Thank you, Leader. Your advice was well considered.” From an earl to a juvenile sword jockey, such praise was world-shattering, but he spoiled the effect by slamming the door.
Robins said quietly, “I thank you also, Sir Spender. I talked myself hoarse trying to persuade him that carting bullion around like onions was absolute folly, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”
I didn’t necessarily believe Robins, but I was fairly sure that Burl and Dragon would, and every little helps when you look as young as I did in those days. I thought I had Robins worked out, though. I thought I had all of them worked out, other than the elusive and ill-affected Gudge.
Master Robins was clever, knew he was clever, and despised those who weren’t. His snoops’ training had made him formidable, arming him with skills and magical tricks that he would never divulge unless he was forced to. King Ambrose thought he had appointed Lord Bannerville to be Chivial’s ambassador to Fitain, but in fact Grand Inquisitor had appointed Master Robins to do all the work as the puppeteer, the power behind the Bannerville figurehead, l’éminence grise.
Sir Dragon? Dragon was a lightweight, so cursed by his dazzling good looks that they had devoured all the rest of his personality; he lived for female conquest. If he carved notches in his sword, it would be barely a fruit knife already. A couple of nights ago, he had bragged to me that his reason for taking refuge in Ironhall—all Blades in those days began by taking refuge in Ironhall from someone or something—was that he had gotten a girl pregnant when he was only twelve. I could understand why a boy of that age who believed that he had done such a thing might want to boast about it, but not why a man in his twenties would even mention it. Or believe it.
And poor, ogreish Burl? He must have known right from the day he walked into Ironhall that he would never be allowed into the Royal Guard. Grand Master would not have misled him on that. The big man never told me why he had sought acceptance at Ironhall, but it might have been because he had heard how Blades were—or claimed to be—superbly successful with women. He might well have feared that none of them would ever look twice at him otherwise.
What of Everard, first Earl Bannerville of Squires Willow and third Baron Bannerville of somewhere-or-other? As a nobleman, he was a leader of society, a pillar of the establishment, an arm of government. He was very skilled on a horse and at toadying to the king, but as a man he was as solid as mist, stubbornly hiding his nullity behind a mask of rank. Without vassals to satisfy his wants, he would disappear altogether. How much of that hard truth did he know? I could not guess. What would happen if events stripped away the illusion to expose the emptiness within? Pray to the spirits that they never would!
Finally there was me. I had done well so far. I knew that, but I also knew that I had just been following my Ironhall training. When the Bannerville embassy arrived in Fitain,
things would be very different, and the youngest member of the party would have to make up his own rules. I would probably find myself miles out of my depth, needing all the help and support I could get.
So the Bannerville party moved aboard Fair Voyage that afternoon. I was still a virgin, to my shame, but that first night as I was leaning on the rail, studying the dock life, Burl wrapped a hand like a ship’s cable around my arm, and led me irresistibly to the gangplank.
“Over there,” he growled, pointing across the harbour. “The one where those men just came out? There’s a cat sign over the door. Dragon and me have kept Chinless safe for five years without you. We can do it for another twenty minutes. Or even longer, if you need to check that you done it right the first time. Go!”
I felt a momentary panic at the thought of abandoning my ward, but this time my manhood prevailed. “How much do they charge?”
He chuckled coarsely. “Tell them you’re a Blade and they should be paying you. That won’t work, but it may get you a laugh, which is a good way to start. A groat should buy you a romp, even two if they’re not busy. You’re a good-looking kid.”
I went. By the time I reached the door I was panting and could feel my face glowing hotter than a smith’s forge. I went in and was accosted by a woman with her breasts bare and most of the rest of her close to it.
She said, “Wrong place, boy. The hopscotch lessons are next door.”
“My Mom told me you’d give me my first one free because I’m a virgin.”
Irene—I learned her name later—laughed raucously, and so did the other girls in the background, whom I had not noticed while admiring the first. As Burl had said, laughter is a good starting place.
I won’t go into details, but I proved worthy of the Blade legend, or so my partners told me. It’s said a man never forgets his first time, and I certainly recall getting the necessary guidance from the buxom Irene. I have vaguer memories of the others—Alice, Ginger, and Bunny, although I admit that Bunny and I were faking at the end. I don’t know which one of them emptied my money pouch, but between them they had probably earned almost that much by the time I went hobbling back to Fair Voyage, broke, exhausted, and content.
I was very pleased to know that I could perform a man’s functions, but that is not my proudest memory of Brimiarde. That came four days later, as Fair Voyage put out to sea. I was again leaning on the rail, but this time enjoying the gentle motion of the ship, sniffing the briny sea smells, watching the other ships and the wheeling gulls. Timbers and ropes creaked, pulleys squeaked. Water made hissing, slurpy noises. This was life, but I could not help wondering if I would ever see those fair green hills of Chivial again.
Burl’s great hairy forearms settled next to mine, making them look naked and puny. “Um Leader?”
“Yes, um brother?”
“Your apprenticeship is up. We gave you two weeks, and you’ve had more than three.”
With a sinking heart, I turned to the ogre face beside me. “So?”
“Dragon hasn’t suggested any change, and I’m sure he isn’t going to. If he ever does, I’ll vote for you. You’ve made a team of us already. Thought you ought to know, lad—you lead and we’ll follow.”
Chapter 5
Captain Silber predicted that the voyage to Fitain would last about three weeks. It took twice that long. Four days out of Brimiarde, Fair Voyage was becalmed, motionless on a sea of glass under a cloudless sky. I took the chance to increase fencing practice. A few times I had the captain bring out his charts and portoplans, and give us geography lessons. It was obvious from those that the currents must be moving the ship steadily toward the rocky coast of Isilond, but no one said so.
Sailing began to seem as boring as counting snowflakes. The sailors’ information ended at the shoreline, but Master Robins could supply information on the country around Lindora, the Fitish capital, although he had never been there.
The calm was followed by a howling sou’wester, blowing exactly the wrong way. Lord Bannerville was at once laid low by seasickness, as were half the crew, but he could take to his bunk and they had to work. Blades were apparently immune, as was Robins. So, curiously, was Gudge—almost as if he were so good at being inconspicuous that even the malevolent water elementals failed to notice him. Silber managed to tack westward, away from all land, but when the wind at last veered more to the north, he had no way of knowing how far Fair Voyage had gone. For two weeks he bore south until his back-staff told him he was at the correct latitude for Lindora, and then he steered due east. But he had already had to cut back on rations.
At sunset the sailors saw clouds to the east that they said indicated land. Just after dawn, Fair Voyage sailed into the estuary of the Torquola River, which is spectacularly wide, with hills to the north and flatter lands to the south. I left my sword with Dragon and swarmed up the mast to admire the view. I counted a dozen other ships in the channel, and could guess that there were more, too far away to see. Silber was angling toward the north shore, where small settlements and castles were coming into sight. The world was inhabited again!
Near to noon, the wind failed and the heat jumped from unpleasant to extreme. Silber blew a signal on his pipe, and the crewmen scrambled aloft to furl sails. By then the ship lay not far off Lindora, the capital, which was large enough to impress both Chinless and Master Robins, who were familiar with Grandon. It had two castles and several palaces, behind a shoreline bristling with masts like the teeth of a comb. The river turned north just there, and widened into a fine anchorage, extending out of sight to the north and east.
“This,” Master Robins declared with a wave at the hills behind the city, “is Lisi. It is a peninsula between the river and the ocean, very defensible.”
I had already worked that out. “But what happens now? The current will carry us out to sea again.”
I got my answer as the anchor ran out with a long grumble of chain.
“Customs officials will come to inspect us,” Robins said. “Chivian ships must be a rare sight in Lindora these days.”
I looked at the flag, wrapped around its pole like a scarf. “How can they know we’re Chivian?”
“By the shape of the ship. ‘The cut of her jib’, the sailors call it.”
It was very annoying to be so ignorant, but here in a foreign land it was something I must expect, and cure quickly.
“I suggest,” the inquisitor said, “that a Blade honour guard might be in order for the harbour master, even a salute when he comes aboard. Captain Silber could advise you.”
Why hadn’t this been suggested sooner? The correct protocol was not taught in Ironhall, but Lord Bannerville had been ambassador to Thergy, so I went off to consult him with very little hope that I would receive any helpful instructions. I didn’t, but the captain just smiled and told me that three or four cruzados ought to solve any problems.
How many crowns to one cruzado? Or cruzados to one crown? And how much usable money did they have aboard anyway? Scream.
Small boats were already drawing close, the crews offering to sell baskets of fruit, and the sight of them gave me an almost unbearable longing for a plum or an apple or even a fresh lettuce, but I had no money.
The whole day was a series of jarring incidents like that. The fat, greasy customs official took the honour guard as a threat and Lord Bannerville as a fraud because he refused an outright request for a landing fee, meaning bribe. Chinless rose to the occasion by turning away and saying, “Leader, this man insults our king. Throw him overboard.”
Even a rookie like me knew that this was absolute insanity, but to refuse the direct order would be much worse. I snapped, “Guard, draw!” and sunlight flashed on three swords. The official scrambled down the ladder much faster than he had clambered up. Once safely out of reach, he bellowed that any man who set foot ashore would be thrown into jail imediatamente!
Secretary Rob
ins took the next step by beckoning a boat closer, tossing down a glittering coin, and telling the occupants that Senhor Anselmo Ernesto would certainly reward them for informing him that the Chivian ambassador designate had arrived. Senhor Ernesto, he explained to me, was a wealthy Fitish merchant, who had acted as Chivian consul in Lindora for many years. It was in response to his pleas that King Ambrose had decided to send Lord Bannerville. I could only hope that the noble senhor would be pleased with the way his prayers had been answered.
Soon after that, a large rowboat appeared and offered to tow Fair Voyage to the docks. Silber bargained the master down to six cruzados, which Robins paid with five Chivian crowns. So a crown and cruzado were approximately equal, and the secretary had been smart enough to bring some of King Ambrose’s money along in coinage. Explain all that to Dragon and Burl...
An hour or so later, Fair Voyage was made fast to a dock, but the customs official set guards on the gangplank and allowed no one on or off. Senhor Anselmo Ernesto, when he arrived, settled the matter with soothing words and a handful of shiny disks. The guards were withdrawn.
The consul waddled aboard. He was short and round, but very grandly dressed. His face and beard were well oiled, as was his voice when he greeted Lord Bannerville, bowing with a courtly flourish. I followed them into the deckhouse wardroom, leaving Burl and Dragon to keep watch on deck. Master Robins poured wine for the principals, but none for himself or me, who would have refused it anyway. The two principals sat across the table from each other, the secretary stood at the window, I stayed near the door.
Ernesto sniffed, sipped, and chuckled. “An Isilondian vintage!”
“Fitish wines are almost unobtainable in Chivial,” the ambassador said huffily. “That is why King Ambrose sent me.”
