“I believe so.”
“Strange that she did not mention any signs of madness. She called him courteous, as I recall. You may wish to question her.”
“I have already spoken to her. She was unable to shed any light on his behavior, though naturally I did not reveal to her the true reason for my concern.”
“She might have been more helpful if you had told her the truth.”
“I do not trust her, and I advise you to be wary in your dealings with her as well,” Nikos said.
It was an old complaint. Ever since Lady Ysobel’s arrival at court, Brother Nikos had been hinting that her post as trade liaison was a mere mask to cover treachery. Naturally Nerissa had assigned spies to keep watch upon her, as they watched all foreign officials. But so far Lady Ysobel had done nothing remarkable save indulge in a taste for the company of young men. And even in that, she was discreet in her indiscretions, keeping her liaisons to the privacy of a rented house rather than inviting them into her official residence in the embassy.
It was not surprising that Lady Ysobel made Brother Nikos uneasy. The brethren were a strictly male order, and they were never comfortable around women, particularly not one as young and beautiful as Lady Ysobel. Nor was any man raised in Ikaria accustomed to the idea of a woman who wielded power in her own right.
Nerissa knew this from her own experience, and the long years it had taken her to consolidate her power, turning herself from empress in name to empress in fact. Even then, she knew that she would never have been named empress if it had not been for the two sons she had borne, which meant that the next ruler would be a male descendant of Aitor the Great.
“It is no coincidence that Lady Ysobel was last here six years ago, at the time of the troubles,” Nikos said.
“Hundreds of other foreigners were in Karystos at that time, and I do not hear you naming them as conspirators.” Empress Nerissa took a sip of her wine as she considered the matter. “I am convinced that Lady Ysobel was sent here to thwart her own ambitions. She had risen too far, too quickly, and earned herself powerful enemies. Here she can do little but bide her time and hope that her faithful service is rewarded with a swift recall to the federation.”
It was hard not to feel a little envious of Lady Ysobel, who enjoyed freedoms that Nerissa had never been allowed to experience. What little she knew of Ysobel she liked, seeing a distant reflection of her own intelligence and ambition. It was rare that she met another woman who did not feel the need to hide her intelligence behind the mask of a dutiful matron, and she made a mental note to invite Lady Ysobel to the palace. She would enjoy the opportunity for pleasant conversation, and the invitation would show Brother Nikos that she would not be swayed by his prejudices.
Ysobel was surprised when an imperial messenger brought an invitation for her to join the empress for an informal dinner. Informal did not mean that she could eschew her court garb, nor that the meal would be anything less than stately, with at least ten courses. Informal, in the parlance of the imperial court, meant that there would be no more than two dozen guests, and thus it was a rare mark of favor, especially for a foreigner.
She had seen the empress several times since her official presentation and had spoken with her twice. But this was the first time that Ysobel had been invited on her own, rather than in the company of Ambassador Hardouin. She wondered at the reasons behind the invitation. Was Empress Nerissa truly interested in conversing with a woman half her age, to learn the perspectives of a foreign land where the aspirations of women were held equal to those of men? Or was Ysobel’s invitation merely the next move in the intricate games of the court? Perhaps it was not Ysobel being honored, but another being taught a lesson by her inclusion.
Or perhaps both were true, for there was no reason the empress could not satisfy her own curiosity even as she played the games of power, granting and withholding her favors at will.
Ysobel was confident in her ability to dissemble, but she was also pragmatic enough to be grateful that she did not need to put her skills to the test—there were no dark deeds that she needed to conceal while sharing bread and oil with a woman she planned to overthrow. After several months in Ikaria, she saw no reason to change her initial assessment. Resentment there was aplenty, but there was no one capable of harnessing that anger and leading a true revolt. Even Dama Akantha, for all her carefully hoarded rage, counseled patience.
Especially now. Only a fortnight past, a gang of youths had been caught painting the stylized lizard sigil of the former rulers of Ikaria on the walls of the imperial playhouse. If they had intended to remind people that the spirit of the rebellion still lived, it would have been a well-chosen target, since the playhouse was hosting Khepri’s fulsome epic. But she was convinced that the boys had intended no such thing. It was likely that they did not truly know the meaning of the symbol, only that it was forbidden. Defacing the playhouse was merely the antics of spoiled children who saw no further than their own petty rebellions against the strictures of their parents.
But neither their youth nor their heedless folly had been enough to protect them from the full weight of imperial justice. Empress Nerissa had swiftly condemned them to death. The executions had been set for a week hence, which had allowed Nerissa to appear to be merciful, for after the parents of the boys had abased themselves, she had commuted all but one of the sentences to exile. At fourteen, Kauldi had the misfortune of being the eldest of the gang, and his relatives were neither rich enough nor sufficiently well connected at the court to win him a reprieve. Though the empress had shown him a share of her mercy as well, ordering a swift and private execution rather than the prolonged agonies spelled out as the punishment for treason.
Ysobel had needed no reminder of the stakes she played for; nonetheless, she took Kauldi’s death as a warning. The empress was taking no chances, and neither should she. In time, Kauldi’s grieving family might well be approached and sounded out to see if they were still loyal to their empress. But for the moment, Ysobel would be seen hard at work in her duties as trade liaison, ensuring that her time in Karystos was not wasted. Profit would always find favor, even when scheming had failed.
Hard on the heels of the empress’s invitation was a far more pleasant summons, as a young sailor brought word that a federation ship was newly arrived in port, and her captain wished to speak with the trade liaison at her earliest convenience. The boy had already crossed the city twice, having traveled first to the embassy before being directed to Ysobel’s private residence, and so she took pity on him and sent him off to the kitchen for refreshments while she went upstairs to change from the silk robe suitable for receiving callers into a linen blouse, short-cropped trousers, and rope sandals that were suited to a shipboard visit.
Such casual attire would scandalize an Ikarian captain, but to one of the federation it was a sign of respect, showing that she, too, had spent her share of hours on the deck of a trading ship.
The boy, who had appeared somewhat startled when he saw her dressed in the Ikarian style, was visibly relieved when he caught sight of her transformed appearance. Hastily cramming a final piece of bread into his mouth, he leapt to his feet.
“If you please,” he said. “Captain will blame me if he’s kept waiting.”
“And his name is?”
The boy shook his head. “He asked me not to say.”
Curious, but she could think of several reasons why a captain might not want his name mentioned where others could hear. And the boy had been prompt enough with his own name, and that of his ship, the Swift Gull—though since she had never heard of the ship, the mere name told her nothing about its master’s probable loyalties. Ysobel had not reached her position by taking foolish chances, so as they left her town house they were trailed by a pair of bodyguards. Just in case this was a clumsy trap.
A point in his favor was that the guards did not unnerve the boy, and despite his unfamiliarity with the city, he led her by a direct route to the central wharves, whe
re a gig was waiting for them, tied up to the pier.
“That’s the Gull, just past the scow with the orange sail.”
He pointed toward the eastern mole, and there, just where the mole curved in to protect the merchant harbor, she saw an old-style galley whose lateen sail had faded over the years from the bright red of luck to a dull orange that spoke of long service with little reward. Just beyond the galley, she saw the bulk of a much larger ship, its four masts reaching to the sky.
One of the new ship designs, and even without an invitation she would not have been able to resist seeing it for herself. Swiftly she climbed down the ladder into the gig, and the others followed.
In the height of the trading season, far more ships came to Karystos than could be accommodated at her docks, and so the harbor was crowded with ships, of all sizes and nations, which had dropped anchor, awaiting their turn to off-load their cargo and take on new goods. Lighters took water and provisions to these waiting ships, and off-loaded cargo for those who could not afford to wait for their turn at one of the precious berths. Her respect for the mysterious captain grew as she observed how skillfully the gig’s crew maneuvered around these obstacles, with only a few soft-spoken commands from the boy, who had taken the tiller.
In barely a quarter hour they had reached the Swift Gull, whose dark timbers, gleaming brasswork, and blindingly crisp white sails proclaimed that she was indeed newly from the shipyard. In time, weather, harsh seas, and the wear and tear that came from loading and unloading cargo in dozens of ports each year would take their toll on the ship, but for now she was perfection. Ysobel wanted this ship, craved her in the way that an Ikarian woman might crave a ruby necklace or a rope of rare black pearls.
As they pulled along the port side of the ship, a knotted climbing line was thrown down to them. She recognized this at once as a test, for if she had been wearing a robe, she could not have climbed it and maintained her dignity.
Ysobel rose to her feet, careful to keep her balance as the gig swayed gently from side to side.
She turned to her escort. “Will you steady the rope, please?”
The boy caught and held the end of the rope, which was knotted at regular intervals. Reaching up with her right hand, she grasped the rope just above one of the knots, and as the boy pulled the rope taut, she put her left foot on the rope. Swiftly she scrambled up, clasping the rope between her feet to steady her. She grinned as she wondered what Empress Nerissa would make of the sight.
As she reached the top, a sun-browned hand reached over the railing, grasped her hand, and smoothly hauled her up and over the rail in a single motion.
She smiled as she saw her helper.
“Captain Zorion, this is an unexpected pleasure.”
“Lady Ysobel.”
He started to salute, as befit a ship’s captain reporting to his employer, but Ysobel would have none of this, and she embraced him instead. For a moment it was as if she was a child, for he still towered over her as he had before, and he smelled of salt water, pine tar, and the faint scent of tea, which was most likely his cargo.
They waited as her bodyguards scrambled up the rope, far less gracefully than she had, then the cabin boy. Zorion dismissed the boy, and she bade her guards go with him so she could speak with her captain in private.
“What are you doing here? And where did you get this ship?”
“The ship is yours,” he said, answering the most important question first.
“Mine?”
There had been plans for a fourth ship, and the shipbuilders had promised that they would lay the keel this fall and construction would be finished by the spring. But this did not explain how Zorion came into possession of a ship that was both larger than the one she had commissioned and ready nearly six months sooner.
“This ship was commissioned for Charlot, but when they could no longer pay for it, the shipbuilders stopped work with the ship half-built. No others wanted a ship of this size, but I knew you could turn a profit on it. I allowed the builders to persuade me to purchase the ship, and they finished it to my specifications.”
It was big. She had commissioned another three-master, but this was a four-masted giant, at least a third longer in the keel than her others.
“You got a good bargain for us?”
“The best. Less than we had planned to spend, on account of our having to adapt Charlot’s clearly inferior design.”
“And does she live up to her name?”
“She’s fast.” Zorion grinned, the flash of bright white teeth startling against his dark skin. “Very fast.”
“I want to see her. All of her.”
“As you command,” Zorion said. He bowed, with an extravagant flourish, inviting her to take the lead.
She spent two hours inspecting the ship, from the very top of her masts to the bottom of her holds, which were indeed tight-packed with bundles of tea leaves. The holds were large, in keeping with the size of the ship, with cunningly fashioned wooden barriers that could be taken down as needed to accommodate bulky cargoes. The rounded stern lent an odd shape to the aft compartments, but other than that she found little that she could quibble over.
Many of the crew were familiar to her, having served with Zorion on his last ship, and she greeted them with absent pleasure, though it was clear to all that her focus was on her ship, which was as it should be. At last she forced herself to stop. She could have spent days learning every inch of the Gull, but she did not have time to indulge herself. Nor would seeing it in port show her what she truly wished to know. She itched to experience the ship under sail and see for herself how she handled when the canvas was set. How long did it take to set all the sail she could carry, and how quickly could it be reefed in when the weather turned foul?
But these pleasures would have to wait for another day. She was no longer an apprentice sailor under Zorion’s crew, nor even an owner out on a trading voyage. She had responsibilities of her own, and delightful as the ship was, she knew there was more to Zorion’s presence than allowing a master trader to inspect her newest ship.
Reluctantly she ended her inspection and followed Zorion back to his quarters. There he poured out two cups of pale wine.
“To the Swift Gull, may she have fair seas, a loyal crew, and luck in every harbor,” she said, raising her cup in salute.
“To the Swift Gull,” he echoed, raising his own cup.
They each drank, then poured a few drops of wine on the deck of the ship, as was proper when toasting her fortune.
Zorion’s quarters were spare, an outer room with a table and a half dozen chairs where he conducted business and dined with guests. A half-closed door led to his sleeping room, which was barely large enough for a bed, and a chest of drawers built into the wall.
She sat down on one of the chairs, and Zorion followed suit, his long legs stretched out before him. His wine cup was set aside, and she knew that he would not drink another drop until he turned the watch over to his junior.
“So tell me, why are you really here?”
“To show you the ship, and to gain your approval for what I have done in your name.”
“A letter would have sufficed,” she said dryly. Though no mere letter nor sketches could have conveyed the size and the beauty of the Swift Gull, Zorion knew better than to indulge in foolish whims. She had placed great power in him, allowing him to act as her agent in all things while her duties in Ikaria kept her from her proper place. He would not have abandoned those duties lightly.
“I came to report that I have nothing to report,” Zorion said.
“No news of Captain Tollen? No news of Seddon’s Pride?”
They had exchanged a handful of carefully ciphered letters since her arrival in Karystos, but Zorion had had nothing to report save the ordinary matters of trade and commerce.
“Tollen’s family received a death bounty, given into their hands by Lord Quesnel himself. It was generous, but not so large as to raise suspicions.”
&nb
sp; This she already knew for herself, so she waited for Zorion to elaborate.
“After I received your letter, I sent word to our agents in ports large and small, but no one has reported seeing the Pride.”
“So everything is as it should be.”
“By all appearances the Pride was the victim of ill luck, caught by one of the vicious storms that are the bane of late season sailings.”
“But you do not believe this.” His presence told her as much. For the past months she had pushed her own worries to the back of her mind, focusing instead on her mission, and the very real dangers that it presented. But in the face of Zorion’s suspicions, her own doubts came to the fore.
“The storm was fierce, and I witnessed the damage to the ship with my own eyes. The foremast was jury-rigged, but it seemed doubtful that it would hold, which is why Captain Tollen ordered me set ashore,” she mused.
It had not all been an illusion. The damage had been considerable, even though they’d only been brushed by the edges of the storm. It had been all they could do to turn aside and make for the nearest landfall. Tollen had not reckoned that the storm would turn as well, and by the time he had realized his mistake, it had been too late for him to do anything but set his passenger ashore and hope he could ride out the storm.
“Fine logic, but what were you doing up by The Hook? That is where he left you, is it not?”
“Here they call it Txomin’s Island. There’s a lighthouse on the far end from where we landed. I don’t think Tollen knew which of the islands it was, or that the lighthouse was there.”
The Hook was a string of tiny islands that extended in a gentle curve northward, marking the limits of the Ikarian Empire. Most of the islands were uninhabited, and a few were so flat that in a large storm the waves simply washed over them. As shelter, the islands had little to recommend them.
“It would take the storm of a lifetime to blow the ship so far off course that you found yourself near the shoals of The Hook,” he said.
The First Betrayal Page 14
